


Through Time and Space

by Buttons15



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4550838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Ciri's many hops leads her to a world not so different from her own, where she meets a powerful ally in her quest to flee the Wild Hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the cold that woke her, and before Cirilla opened her eyes, she was certain the Hunt had her this time. She sat up with an abrupt gasp that made her dizzy, adrenaline high, heart drumming so fast it hurt,  hands reaching for her blade, felt fur touch her cheek and saw… A cozy fire. A woman, intently focused on roasting something in a stick. A heavy cloak that wasn’t hers, wrapped around her shoulders. Most importantly, her sword lying right next to her bedroll.

She pulled it slightly out of the sheathe just to make sure it was there, then let the air out with a loud sigh. She slid her hands under her shirt and felt well done, clean bandages wrapped around her torso. Whoever found her had changed her summer clothes to a more appropriate winter outfit, too. It looked like she fell into the graces of the friendly locals of wherever-it-was again.

_Not this time they caught you, Ciri, not this time. But fuck, was it close._

Every time she blinked, she saw flashes of Eredin and his riders hot on her tail, tearing worlds and worlds apart, barely giving her time to breathe –

“Left you with your blade. Hopin’ you won’t use it to stab me,” The woman said between bites.

_Naïve. Or confident she can take me._

Her witcher training kicking in, she was snapped back to the present, and evaluated the situation carefully. They were inside a cave, which was fairly dull as far as caves went.  She sat on the sole bedroll, but the stranger’s backpack was within sight. A fancy, rather unpractical bow caught Ciri’s attention briefly. The bonfire was near the mouth, where the woman sat on the floor. A heavy blizzard howled outside. The natural, non-specter kind of blizzard, she hoped. 

_Woman. Tall, fit. Mesomorph. Ears, round. Average complexion. Hands, small, non-clawed. Scarred. Light-colored lines – old lacerating wounds. Skin, pale. Eyes, blue. Hair, short-black. Looks young, about my age. Armed. Blade – definitely enchanted. Lightly armored – worn out leather. Dressed for the cold. Nonhostile._

There was nothing in the woman that indicated anything supernatural, but the blade she carried was unusual in shape, and she had a glint in her eye that kept Ciri on edge. She trusted her instincts and chose a careful answer.

“Always snow this much around here?”

The woman laughed, then moved from the cave’s mouth to take a sit nearby. She handed Ciri a mug of something warm, which she sniffed with a hint of suspicion.

 “Just spiced wine, relax. Wouldn’t go through the trouble of saving you only to poison you immediately after. And yes, it always does snow a lot this up in Skyrim. I’m Anne, by the way. Not from around here, are you?”

Ciri inwardly cursed. The thing about traveling through worlds was, she always had to make up a story on the go. She couldn’t very well say she came from another dimension of time and space without getting neck-deep into trouble – be it the nearest madhouse or the nearest power dispute.

 “I’m Cirilla. And, no, not much familiar with the land.” A sheepish smile. “Share the food?”

_Oldest trick in the book: use the food as an excuse to let others do the talking._

Anne extended her the barbecued animal. Ciri wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know what it was. She bit it, and found it palatable enough. The wine warmed her insides pleasantly.  She _was_ kind of hungry, after all. Sure enough, as soon as she started chewing, Anne resumed speaking. She gathered information like a sponge, putting pieces together to form something believable.

“You can have it all, I’ve had more than my fill. You’re lucky we’re both stupid enough to be out in this weather, in the same isolated corner of the world. Would’ve frozen to death out there for sure.”

Ciri was not oblivious to the implicit question in the woman’s words. She took a big bite of the meat and muttered, “Mhh. Not familiar with the land. Didn’t know storm was comin’.”

Anne squinted, a sly smile crossing her features. “You from Hammerfell? You look the type.”

“Yes. Small town of Velen,” Ciri bluffed shamelessly.

“Never heard of it. That anywhere near Tamriel?”  the other continued, a reflexive look on her face.

“Few miles east of it.”

The woman’s smile widened. She leaned in closer, locked eyes with Ciri.

  _Awfully intense stare._

Cirilla did not drop her gaze.

“Bullshit. Tamriel is the name of the entire continent, and the people from Hammerfell have their skin dark and their hair curly.”

“You blinked into existence. No portals, no gates, no nothing, you were suddenly just there. You don’t look like anyone I’ve ever seen, and you don’t know shit about this world. Just who exactly are you, really?”

_Of all the possible inhabitants of this land, I just had to fall into the hands of one tricky as a fox._

Ciri tentatively fingered the pommel of her sword, reconsidering the threat.

“I, ah, must’ve hit my head. It’s true, I’m quite confused –”

“Bandaged you all over. Didn’t see any head wounds.”

“Bit nosy, aren’t you?” Ciri snapped, patience running thin. “Care to mind your business?”

“I _am._ ” Anne crossed her arms. “Look at this blizzard. Think I’m out in this weather as coincidence? No, I was sent for you, Cirilla. Been having dreams about the place you popped in for months now. And just as I finally find the spot, suddenly there you are.”

She decided that being expected in another world was in fact worsethan having to come up with a story. She considered blinking away then and there, but curiosity got the best out of her.

“Who sent you?”

“I’m not sure – though I do have my suspicions. You truly from another world?”

Seeing no point in hiding it any longer, she nodded.

“Akatosh, then. This, this border patrol thing, that’s supposed to be his job. He’s using me as his errand girl _again,_ and I don’t like it one bit.” Anne rubbed circles in her forehead with her index and middle fingers. “Alas, my dysfunctional relationship with my sort-of-father shouldn’t be your problem. You’ve entered the realm of Nirn. People can go in and out of it all the time and no one gives a shit, except Aka wants me to check on you for some reason. So state your business, I’ll help you with it, and we can both go our merry ways.”

Ciri chose that moment to stand up. She dusted herself, repositioned Swallow on her back, and crossed her arms. Anne rose to her feet.

“No business. I shan’t be long. Same reasons that brought me here will take me away – I’m fleeing. You sensed my coming – that’s bad. It means my pursuers will pick up my trail soon enough, and I’ll have to hop away to other world.”

“You must have done something quite unimaginable, that they would give chase through worlds and worlds.” The woman tapped a pensive finger to her chin. “Or rather, you must have something precious to them. What is it?”

She scoffed. “Either my blood or that of my unborn child, depends on whom you ask.”

“You with child?”

“I will be, if they catch me,” Cirilla replied darkly. “But in your words, my relationship with the Wild Hunt shouldn’t be your problem. I apologize for the trouble – I’ll move on as soon as I’ve recovered my strength.’’

“Forget it. I told you, I’ll help. You can’t run away forever, and taking down degenerate bastards is a job right up my alley.” Anne answered, picking up her backpack from the ground.

She was touched. Not by this woman in particular, but by all of them – the people from many different worlds who volunteered to risk their necks for her, despite her warnings, and how it usually ended in disaster. She dropped her gaze and actually teared up a little.

_Not the time to get sentimental, Cirilla._

“Thanks. Really, thank you. But I’m afraid I can’t accept it. The Wild Hunt…you don’t know what you’re offering.”

Anne placed her hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She looked up, met her gaze.

“Been doing this for a while now, haven’t you? Fleeing them.” The woman gave her a knowing look. “I’ve dealt with many situations like this before. I didn’t get sent here for nothing, Ciri. I have a…very particular set of skills. Have a little faith.”

Anne’s hands moved delicately, fastening the cloak around Ciri’s shoulders. “Now, tell me what, exactly, are we dealing with. The Wild Hunt. I know what they want. I know how far they’re willing to go to get it. Now I must know who they are, and how to stop them.”

_Ah, why the fuck not_

“They are...specters of sort. Skeletal riders, covered in plate, eyes burning like blue fire. They come in the thousands, with hounds born of ice, and with them comes the White Frost, a cold that freezes the world solid and leaves death in its wake.”

“Mmh.” Anne turned her attention to her backpack, rummaging for something inside. Ciri waited for an emotional response, but none came. The description hadn’t scared the woman, it seemed. “And of their leaders? Have they any?”

“It’s complicated. They come as specters, yes, but in truth, they’re but elves from a distant world.”

“Elves. Had to be.” Anne pulled something out from her bag – a necklace. It looked like an amulet of sorts, depicting a dragon eating a sword.

“There’s Eredin, their king,” Ciri continued. “Cruel, ruthless, oppressive. Imlerith, his general, is a powerful and brutal sadist who enjoys physical confrontation. Caranthir is their navigator – the one responsible for leading them through worlds. The others can do short hops through space and time, but it is Caranthir who guides them across the realms.”

“Caranthir. We’ll take him down first, then the other two won’t be able to escape.”

“Would have done it already, were it easy. There’s _thousands_ of them Anne.”

“Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir, those are the ones you have to worry about,” She insisted. “The others won’t come. Here, wear this amulet. It’ll keep you safe from Akatosh’s backlash. Hopefully. Maybe you should drink my blood, too? I don’t know, I have no precedents here.”

She slipped the amulet on Ciri’s neck without waiting for consent.

“Blood drinking, not going to happen. And, like hell they won’t come.”

“They can’t come, I told you, it’s Akatosh’s job. There was a pact, long ago, sealed and resealed with blood over holy ground. And while there’s a lot of rules to permanence in Nirn, I can assure you a full blown invasion from another realm is just not allowed – ”

Something in the universe shifted. Ciri felt it, and she was sure her companion felt it too, for the already cold temperature dropped even lower, and the blizzard quieted down abruptly, subsiding to a breeze of frost.

“- As you’re about to find out in rather spectacular fashion, it seems.” Anne finished, taking her bow into hands. She fished out a single arrow from the quiver.

The movement that drew Swallow out of its sheathe was automatic, and so was the feeling of dread that crawled over Ciri’s heart. They ran together to the mouth of the cave and outside. She gave the landscape a quick scan. They were on higher ground, but not by much, and down the hill, she could already see the swirling portals tearing open the fabrics of the universe. An armored figured stepped out, then another, and both looked straight her way.

“The one with the scepter, that’s Caranthir,” The ashen haired woman said for no reason in particular. Anne was friendly and willing, but Ciri didn’t believe she could really be of help. No one ever could.

“One with the crown, must be Eredin?”

“The one and only,” Cirilla continued. Maybe she was just sick of running. Maybe she just enjoyed sharing her woes for once, even if for a short while.

“Means the brute with the mace…”

“Imlerith,” She confirmed.

They were making their way, the three of them, walking up the hill in a slow stroll, with the arrogance of a hunter who sees their prey trapped. Ciri tensed. Anne extended an arm, as if to hold her back.

“Wait for it.”

She waited. They waited. All around them, more and more portals spawned, riders and hounds coming out of them endlessly. The elves, no, the monsters, grew larger and larger as they approached. When they were but a few meters away, Anne slung the bow over her shoulder, and holding the arrow in one hand, took a step forward. The cold was nearly unbearable then, dressed for it or not.

“Good day,” Anne begun, in a perfectly diplomatic tone. The absurdity of the situation was such, Ciri had to hold back laughter.

 “You can’t do this,” she continued. “Nirn can’t be invaded by forces of other realms. It’s against The Covenant. It’s not allowed. You should leave.”

A pause.

“Of course, Cirilla here, she’s my guest. She can stay as long as she wants,” Anne continued, louder this time, looking not at the incoming enemies but oddly enough, straight up to the skies.

No answer from the Wild Hunt – big surprise. The ground froze solid under Eredin’s feet, plump snow turning to ragged spikes of ice as he approached. The world grew colder and colder – Except for the wooden amulet in her neck. It was strangely warm, and heating up. Uncomfortable against her skin, even.She brushed her fingers against it.

“Last chance,” Anne insisted, now pushing the arrow against her own palm, until the pinkish skin turned white from the pressure. “If I spill the blood of Akatosh, things will get really ugly, really quick. For you, of course. ”

Ciri expected no answer, and none came. The heat of the amulet grew almost unbearable.

“So be it.”

Many things happened at once. The arrow tip broke Anne’s skin, and crimson blood spewed, slowly soaking the metal. Among the rows of riders, rose a ghastly scream, then a blast of golden light. The leaders of the Hunt halted in place, as if stopped by an invisible force.  The golden spark made more victims on the Hunt’s ranks, riders and hounds being vaporized faster and faster.

Anne nocked her arrow, aimed up, straight at the sun, and released the string. For a moment, as the arrow flew, the world seemed to hold its breath. Abruptly, the projectile lost physical shape, turning into a bolt of energy headed towards the sun. And then all hell broke loose.

The ground around them literally exploded, as rays of sunlight came down and hit the Red Riders, disintegrating them in the spot. The golden hue was everywhere, impaling her pursuers but also imploding them. Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir made a run and advanced after them, followed by the quickly disappearing yet still numerous specters. Anne had traded her bow for her blade, ready to face their enemy, and Ciri got moving as well.

The two had no illusion about winning this fight, so they ran instead. Ciri lashed out wildly with Swallow, not bothering to engage any adversary up close. She had no need to, either – contact with her blade was enough to induce the strange vaporization on the creatures. She dodged a jumping hound, rolling sideways, away from the hunt’s leaders, and deflected a sword slash away from Anne’s neck.

A horn sounded – the Wild Hunt’s retreat horn. Ciri twisted back, to see the golden light seeping from the cracks in Eredin’s armor. They pulled back as Caranthir opened a portal, all but Imlerith, who still pursued them fiercely.  Then the amulet she was wearing spontaneously shattered into pieces.

_BURNING UP!_

She fell to her knees screaming, her body suddenly on fire. She lost conscience of herself as every nerve, every pore, every hair on her body seemed to lit up, and she could feel her very molecules vibrate faster and faster. She tasted metallic blood on her mouth, a wonder she could still taste at all, and her brain half processed an image of Anne’s bloody wrist against her lips. She swallowed, and it slowly but surely doused the fire within. Time seemed to break down into disjointed fragments.

_Flash!_

Her arm struck a blow own its own, dismembering a nearby something.

_Flash!_

Rolling on the ground, cold snow, someone yelling.

_Flash!_

 The sound of metal against metal, she was moving, running, blinking, stabbing.

_Flash!_

_Holy shit is she breathing fire?!_

_Flash!_

Tripping, falling, downhill, bleeding, someone next to her, _Anne is that you shit we have to-_

_Flash!_

A rushed whisper.

_Tiid Klo Ul!_

Time stood perfectly still, Imlerith’s mace frozen static in the air, millimeters from either her shoulder or Anne’s skull, depending on which way he swung.  Ciri cranked her neck and her eyes met Anne’s, aware and vibrant. They stood there, together in that bizarre crystalized moment, as if the two shared their own bubble of time and space.

They reached out for each other, hands grasping together, and Ciri closed her eyes and unleashed her gift, blinking them out of there to somewhere, _anywhere_. Like a held breath, time resumed its flow, and the two women fell –

In a mattress. A bed.

_Safe?_

The edges of her vision darkened.  

A door creaking open. Voices. Unintelligible fragments.

_“Shit, Anne –”_

_“ – fetch Aela – bleeding  – ”_

_“ – teleporting in my room –”_

“ _– apocalyptic mess –_ ”

Cirilla blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

" - and so Martin became the avatar of Akatosh and banished Dagon. Since then, Nirn cannot be invaded by other realms, and that's why that Wild Hunt of yours got magnificently vaporized."

Ciri twirled the bottle of mead on the table. Around her, the hall bubbled with chatter. It was a tall room, ample and well illuminated by candles on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The food was abundant, with multiple kinds of meals, from venison to roasted birds, from eggs to foreign fruits. And, of course, barrels and barrels of mead to loosen the tongues of the warriors. In the very middle of the room, men and women clashed in mock-duels with wooden swords.

No one seemed to be paying particular attention to them at the moment. The story Anne was sharing, it seemed, was well known by all.

"So how come I can stay?"

Anne absently dismembered a roasted bird with her fingers. "There are a lot of rules to it, and no one really knows for sure how it works. If you bring your whole cavalry of spectral elves, Akatosh will notice – and burn everything foreign in quite a large radius. Even if you try to sneakily cross a few people over a long period of time, Akatosh will still notice. But one person is not an invasion. You're the only being from your realm currently on Nirn. It's not much of a disruption. Besides, I gave you a pass."

She listened, but she also observed. The place she'd teleported them to, she had learnt, was called Jorravask, home to a guild of mercenaries with whom Anne was fortunately on good terms with. She wasn't precisely sure how she went from teleporting to their beds to sitting on a table drinking with them, but that seemed to be the perfectly normal among with these rowdy people.

"Yes, about that – What's this?" Ciri pointed to a plate in which laid a branch filled with small red fruits.

"Snowberries. Edible."

She popped a snowberry between her teeth, pleased with the sweet taste that filled her mouth. "About that," She continued. "I was burning up until you gave me your blood. That's the default admittance procedure to the realm?"

"Mmh, to be honest, I wasn't even sure that'd work," Anne replied between sips. "What everyone knows for sure is that the one thing that might be able to bend the Covenant is Dragonborn blood, so I had to give it a shot."

Ciri's gaze moved back and forth across the room, keeping track of three particular individuals. Sure, it was the dark skinned elf who had caught her attention at first, but she had quickly lost interest in face of three peculiar individuals. The first two, twins, were Farkas – a friendly behemoth of a man, and Vilkas, a smaller but smarter one. The third one, a fiery redhead, was the one who seemed to be in charge of the place – Aela the Huntress.

"I thought Martin was the last one – wasn't that what triggered the whole Oblivion Crisis on first place?" She prompted.

It was their eyes. Golden and intense, all three of them. They had a predatory glint to it, similar but not precisely the same as Anne's. It made her skin crawl. And golden. Ciri could accept that in the twins, but that a third person would have them in such unusual color…

_Might be how things are in this world. Might be golden eyes are as common as brown here._

And yet she watched them closely, because better safe than sorry.

Little things, little things. Body language. Flashes of bared teeth. How the three exchanged almost imperceptible snarls.

"It's complicated," her friend spoke, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Martin and the Champion were lovers. When he died, she… well, she became the God of Madness, but before… the bastard of a bastard… ah, to Oblivion with it, I'm not drunk enough to discuss my genealogy. Just don't call me Septim, that's what our coin is called, and it makes me sound like a cheap hooker. Besides, I'm so far in the family tree from them, I might as well have been a Khajiit."

"So what do I call you, after all? From what I gathered, you're someone important around here. Do you have any titles, maybe Duchess or –"

"Oi, Septim!" someone yelled from the other end of the table. "Quit flirtin' and pass the Black-Briar!"

The woman gritted her teeth. Her hand moved fast as a striking viper. A bottle flew. The men laughed.

"Anne," She replied. "Just Anne. 'Dragonborn' if you're feeling formal or the occasion calls for it. And you? I shudder to think I might be committing a transdimentional breach of etiquette."

Ciri sipped from her mug. It was good quality mead. She discreetly checked on the golden-eyed trio. Farkas and Vilkas were in the center, beating one another with the wooden sword. Aela observed quietly from near the doorstep. Their eyes briefly met, and Ciri looked away and back to her friend.

"Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon." She replied.

The Dragonborn arched her eyebrows, as if waiting for her to say it was a joke.

"That's pretentious. And a bit silly." Anne abruptly leaned in and whispered. "Quit starin' at the Circle. You're getting in Aela's nerves, and Vilkas is bound to notice soon. Drop it."

So there  _was_  something up with them. She decided to give Anne a vote of confidence on it, and pushed the matter away from her mind. For the time being, at least.

She answered with a short nod.

"Just call me Ciri." She said, going back to the previous topic as if nothing had happened. "Cirilla of Vengerberg, after my mother."

"Cirilla of Vengerberg," Her friend repeated, then slammed her mug down on the table, making a loud clang. "Hey, hey!"

There was something strangely imposing about her voice, and in a split second, the hall fell silent. Anne stood on the bench.

"A toast to my friend Ciri, who fights like a ploughin' lion. Hail, Cirilla!"

The hall erupted in cheers, and for a split second, Ciri actually blushed. Then she regained her composure and stood up as well. She lifted her mug and clashed it with Anne's, spilling half its content over.

"Hail, Dragonborn," she replied with a sincere smile.

They fell back to their seats together and drained their respective glasses. Now the other members crowded around them, while the Dragonborn retold the story of how they'd ended up in Jorravask, probably for the tenth time that day. The warriors laughed and drunk together, and it didn't take them long to warm up to Ciri.

" – and so this dog comes to me, and I swear on Talos' name, it opens its mouth and speaks! And it goes 'You're exactly what I was looking for!'"

General laughter.

"I wonder if our guest has a tale to best this one?" asked the dark skinned elf –  _Athis,_   _was it?_

"Mm, yes, I wonder," The Dragonborn agreed, twisting her lips in a savage grin. She reached for the food.

Ciri accepted a new mug of mead and drunk it down with three long gulps. She placed it down on the table and locked eyes with Anne, taking her unspoken challenge.

"There was this one time," the ashen haired woman said. "I accidentally teleported myself to the middle of a huge desert, and managed to find my way out with the help of a baby unicorn."

Anne casually licked bits of sauce from her fingers. "Got teleported from an old basement to inside the mind of a long dead emperor, where I met my female ancestor, in the shape of a male God of Madness."

The Dragonborn reached for another drink and took it straight from the bottle, not bothering to spill it in a mug.

"Ran away from an arranged husband, a king, right into a forest where I almost got turned into a dryad." Another bottle was handed to her. Ciri uncorked it with her teeth. "At the age of six," she completed.

The Companions began getting excited about their competition, and the mead flowed faster. The two women alternated a wild story with a drink.

"Was on my way to Solitude, saw this huge statue. Decided to investigate." Anne exclaimed. "Stepped on a temple. Was abruptly lifted thousands of feet in the air, way above the mountains even, where a Daedric Prince demanded I found her beacon."

Ciri drank. "Am chased by a battalion of elves from another world who want to get me with child."

The Dragonborn grabbed her fourth or fifth bottle. Ciri lost count.

"Was a werewolf for a while."

A round of murmurs broke. Ciri's vision blurred. She drank.

"Blew up a shack in a temple by accident," she slurred.

"Took pleasure in killing," Her friend whispered.

Her fingers shook, her motor coordination seriously lacking. She missed her own mouth twice before she managed to take another drink. Half the mead spilled down her clothes.

"Killed for pleasure," She shot back.

"Joined the imperial army!"

"Joined a group of bandits!"

"Joined!" Anne yelled, giggling. "A guild of thieves!"

Ciri rose abruptly, dug her fingers on the table to steady herself, then decided to sit down again. She threateningly pointed at the Dragonborn with a bottle.

"Shagged a man in the bushes!" She sniggered hysterically. "Bastard thought I was a fairy."

"Shagged two men in the bushes! At the same time!"

A loud "Oooh" went through the watching crowd. Ciri slammed her fist on the table.

"Bedded a woman!"

"Pfff," Anne sneered. "Got gay married to a Hagraven!"

The Companions roared in excited laugher. From the back, someone yelled, "Did you sleep with it?!"

"The fuck am I supposed to know," Anne growled. "I was drunk!"

The two reached for the same bottle, their fingers brushing together. Their eyes met, and it was as if static had passed through them.

They tugged at the bottle. And again.

"Fucker!" The Dragonborn slurred. "Gimme a schhhhword, let's settle this!"

"Bring it on, schhhag-hag!"

They stood up with the help of the encircling mercenaries and dragged themselves to the middle of the hall. A wooden sword was placed on Ciri's hand. The ground moved erratically under her feet, making it hard to stand.

"Gunna give yer pretty face 'nuther scar" Anne snarled, lunging forward.

The Dragonborn stumbled. Ciri executed a masterful half-pirouette dodge, except she couldn't keep her balance and had to lean against the wall, leaving her whole body exposed. Her breath was expelled out of her lungs with a loud 'oomph' when her adversary hit her ribs with her stick.

"Made a huge mischtake!" the ashen haired woman cursed, leaning against her mock weapon to try and make the world stop spinning.

With the elegance of a rock troll brandishing a club, Ciri struck, and with sheer brute strength, whacked Anne right on the top of her skull.

All around them, the crowd clapped.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Here, take this," Anne muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Will help you with the hangover."

Ciri gladly accepted. The contents of the green vial, whatever they were, tasted horrible, and it took all her strength of will not to puke. The effects were almost immediate however, and her splitting headache soon subsided. She had bruises all over and her body ached.

She could not remember anything from the previous night. She was not sure she wanted to know. She grabbed a mug and filled it – with water.

"Whose house is this?"

"Mine," the other replied. "Someone must've carried us here. Probably Farkas."

The two disheveled women silently ate together, sharing a breakfast that basically consisted of an apple. When they were done, the Dragonborn fished something off her pocket and handed it to Ciri. She looked at her hangover buddy quizzically.

"The keys to here," Anne explained, straddling a chair. "I want you to have them. I promised to help you and I will, but the truth is, we don't know if the elves who chase you will give up, we don't know where any of them are, if they are on Nirn at all, or when they'll strike. I'll put a word in with my informants. Meanwhile, I'll be travelling around, doing…what I do. It's too dangerous though, so I want you to have the keys so you have a place to stay."

"All right, first of all, bullshit," Ciri replied, giving the keys back. "Second, when do we leave and where are we going?"

The Dragonborn grinned. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you to stay here quietly, twiddling your thumbs? You could open a shop, maybe…"

"Look at this face," Ciri growled. "Do I look like a shopkeeper? Don't answer. I'm a witcher. A monster hunter. I owe you a rescue, and probably a thousand glasses of mead. I'm tagging around…if you don't mind."

"I enjoy the company… if you can keep up." Anne teased.

"Oh, I'll show you. Where are we headed?"

"Excellent question," her friend said, pulling a journal from her pocket. She flipped through the pages. "Mmm… fire salts to Balimund… no, no, bandit camp… Stormcloak guerrillas…" She closed the book abruptly. "You know what? Let's just go wherever life takes us. Coming with?"

"Like a true witcher," Ciri answered. "On the Path. Yes, I'm coming."

Anne smiled. "We leave by noon."

And so they went.


	3. Chapter 3

"Been meaning to ask for a while," Ciri began a conversation, breaking the monotonous sound of their feet on the earth and the clunking of their backpacks. "What's with the sword?"

Anne slowed down her hiking pace to stand next to her friend. It was their seventh day of travel, and the two had been keeping a steady pace of walking all day long, with only brief pauses for lunch. When the sun went down, the two would make their way to the nearest shelter and camp for the night. Then, the Dragonborn would inexorably wash herself, they'd eat whatever they had scavenged on the road, then sleep in turns until the morning. They'd be off punctually at sunrise, which never failed to sour Ciri's mood.

_She wasn't kidding about the whole keeping up deal._

She wasn't sure if the hurry to get nowhere in particular was purposefully done to scare away travel partners or if that was just her friend's actual pace, but she was determined not to complain.

"Dawnbreaker," Anne said, pulling the glowing blade out of its scabbard. "It's a magic sword."

_No shit?_

"I can see that," Ciri snapped. "But what does it do?"

"It glows. Here, see?" The woman replied, moving her palm over the swirling glowing orb on the sword's pommel. It flashed yellow. She moved her hand back down, and the glow dimmed to imperceptible levels. "I can even control it. Took me forever to figure it out."

"I can  _see_  that," She repeated. "I mean, does it do anything else? Or is it just a glorified glow-stick?"

"It's pretty good for slicing things."

Ciri scowled. The Dragonborn caught a glimpse of that and turned around to face her, while running backwards. "Hey, why so –" she lifted her hands and twitched her index fingers, making air quotes, "Cirious?"

The ashen haired woman gritted her teeth.

"I'm going to strangle you. Don't let me get my hands on you, Septim, I'm really going to strangle you."

Anne laughed. "It sets people on fire, and it blows the undead to dust. Mostly, though, it glows. It's a bliss, really, because I frequent lots of dark places, and torches are plain obnoxious, particularly when I have to dive – oh, look! Breakfast!"

_I hope to the gods we won't have to dive._

Her friend had ran off road and climbed a bit of slippery looking, very unsafe rock wall. She bolted back, carefully bringing something in her hands. Eggs. The Dragonborn gave her one, and took one for herself.

"Rock warbler," The dark haired woman said. She pushed her thumb in the eggshell, cracking it, and swallowed the leaking contents raw. Ciri wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. "You know, you always have to leave one in the nest, so that the bird knows where to –"

"You can get Salmonella from that," the witcheress warned.

"I can't get shit," Anne replied, wiping the raw gooey egg white from her lips with the back of her gloved hand.

_Gross._

"I'm a demigod, almost," Her friend continued. "I can't remember the last time I was sick. I swear, with my lifestyle, if I die in a bed, it won't be from Salmonella, it'd be from the irony."

"You'd die from the irony of dying from Salmonella? That doesn't even make sense," Ciri teased, carefully pocketing her egg for lunch, when she could have it cooked and disease-free. "What's your armor made of, and why does the right glove lacks a half?"

"Dragon scales. Honestly. It's unique. It was made by Eorlund at the Skyforge…for a special occasion. " Anne said. She lifted her right hand, where the glove left her thumb, index and middle fingers exposed, then fished a jar out of her pocket, from where she took out a piece of honeycomb. She licked the honey off her fingers and began chewing. "Gloves are cumbersome, and I need these three fingers free to write letters, pick locks, cast minor spells, among others. My turn: why do you wear your sword in your back like that?"

"Hmm." She ducked to avoid a branch. "It's how I was taught. Witchers use swords on their backs, usually two. One silver, one steel – for different kinds of monsters. Mine though, is made from both, that's why I have only one. Why are you always chewing on chunks of honeycomb?"

"It helps me focus," Anne explained. "Also, my throat gets sore a lot, because… all the shouting. Stick around me long enough and you're bound to see me do it. So, the honeycomb helps with that. Where did you get that scar?"

A pause.

Ciri found it to be a bit of a touchy subject. She sighed and slowed her walk a little. Her friend noticed it and shortened her own steps.

"Bad memories?"

"Some things are hard to get over," She mumbled. "I rather not discuss the situation. Got it from a throwing star, you know the ones?"

"Yes, the Blades still use them. Very common in Morrowind also." The Dragonborn stopped abruptly, and extended her hand, running her exposed fingers over the scar tissue. "Hasn't made you any less strikingly beautiful."

Their eyes met for a split second, and Ciri blinked. Anne's cheek turned slightly pink. She cleared her throat and resumed moving, even faster this time.

Ciri released a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding.

_What the – Don't overthink it. Do not overthink it._

"Thanks," the witcheress said, speeding up to a jog. Her backpack clanked. "I was really self-conscious about it for a while. They were going to remove it, you know, to pretty me up to be the favorite wife of king something-or-other." She scoffed.

"Not fit for royalty life?"

"Not fit for people controlling me is what," Ciri complained. "'We'll take off this scar. You'll marry the king. Be the mysterious wife. You'll have his son, and we'll raise him to our interests. You'll fulfill the prophecy. Blah blah blah'. Well, make me, if you can catch me."

"Hah!" Anne laughed. They were both running now, their breaths coming out faster. "Stuck in the butt end of a prophecy, eh? I can relate. 'The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.' Well fuck me, right? Divines forbid I'd be into thieving and not dragon hunting!"

"What did you do?"

The terrain sloped uphill. Sweat rolled over Ciri's face.

"Well, you can't really escape from it. I ended up dragon-hunting after all – but on my terms." She reached for the water skin and took a long gulp. "Suddenly everyone wanted a say in my life. Graybeards, Blades, Jarls, everyone had tons of 'the Dragonborn musts'. Want advice from a prophecy-friend?"

Ciri half-smiled. "Sure."

"It's all bullshit. If you sit still and wait, your damn apocalypse is still going to come and slap you in the face anyway. So just do what you think is best meanwhile. You're more than your damn prophecy. And when the time comes, you'll be alone with your fate, and you better be at peace with yourself then."

"So basically, despite everyone telling me otherwise, I'm doing it right?"

Anne grinned.

"You're doing it perfect."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I was  _dying_  to see what the hell you'd do in this situation," Ciri smirked.

"What do you mean?" Anne responded, seeming legitimately puzzled.

They kicked their bedrolls open and the Dragonborn buried her sword on the ground, then ran her palm over the pommel. The glow that came from the gem increased, filling the cave they were camped in with pleasant light.

Ciri made a gesture with her arms, pointing towards the scenery. "It's freezing. We're up to our knees in snow, there are no water sources nearby, and it's pitch black. So how are you going to wash?"

Anne stared at her for a full twenty seconds. Then, she slowly raised her open palm and twiddled her fingers, which caused little flames to dance between them.

"Fucking maaaaagic," The Dragonborn said very slowly, as if talking to a not very bright child.

Ciri resisted the urge to punch her. "Let me get this straight. You'll what, strip naked in the middle of a snowstorm that might as well have been summoned by the Wild Hunt, and melt down some snow just so you can wash?"

"Yes."

"That's the dumbest shit to ever come out of your mouth. You'll get pneumonia."

"I'm not going to get shit," Anne barked. "You, on the other hand, will get a stink. You haven't washed for what, two full days?"

"It's freezing. It's so cold I'll be pissing in blocks soon. I'll start weeping crystals. I'll practice spit ballistics so I can kill my enemies with the instant solidifying saliva that comes out of my mouth."

"Excuses, excuses. This lack of hygiene will get you sick someday, heed my advice. Besides, I have a delicate nose."

That was too much for Ciri to take, and in a split second, a snowball struck the Dragonborn hard, straight in the face.

"Oh,  _now_ you're going to wash," Anne growled, picking up a handful of snow herself.

Ciri saw it coming however, and blinked out of the way just before the snowball hit her. Taking advantage of her new location, she hit Anne with another chunk of ice, making her stumble.

 _"Krosis,"_ The Dragonborn hissed. The language was unknown, but Ciri was absolutely sure it was a curse. She laughed.

"You cheat!" Anne complained as she missed the witcheress over and over.

"Not my fault you're too slow for –"

" _FUS!_ "

Ciri was hit with a literal avalanche that tossed her against the cave wall and buried her a good twenty centimeters in freezing  _so fucking cold_  snow, that got inside her boots and her clothes and gave her an unwilling wash. She kicked it off, pulling herself out of the impromptu snowhill that had fallen over her head.

Anne was laughing to tears. Tears that froze straight out of her eyes. Ciri burst out laughing.

By the morning, of course, the two were running a fever.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"So this is what you do for a living, eh?"

"Mhhhm," Anne grunted, her mouth obstructed by the lockpicks she held between her teeth.

Ciri followed a floating speckle of dirt with her eyes. The dusty old tomb smelled of mold and things that have been dead for thousands of years. It looked exactly like the kind of place she'd find Geralt in. That in itself said a lot about the place, considering witchers were mutated not to feel little things like disgust.

The Dragonborn sneezed, spitting the lockpicks all over. Ciri laughed. Her friend replied with a rude gesture while she scurried to pick them back up.

_Clink._

"Ha!" Anne exclaimed when the lock fell to the floor. She opened the chest with a rough kick, and the cloud of dust that puffed from it sent both women into a fit of coughing. Ciri took a peek in, and watched her friend pick out a couple amethysts.

"Nice," the witcheress mumbled. "How come these tombs aren't all looted?"

"The draugrs?" Anne quipped. "They do a great job of keeping people out."

Ciri kicked the dead, undead and re-dead draugr at her feet. Its ribcage cracked with a nasty  _crunch._

"They weren't much trouble," she pointed out.

"Mmm no, not for you or me," The Dragonborn agreed. "But most people aren't used to fighting something that keeps coming at you with a limb missing. The architecture is not favorable to large groups, and that's what it'd take to beat the Overlord in the last chamber, where most profits are. Besides, there's always the creepy factor."

"So, you've been solo-ing these tombs for a while now. Why aren't you rich already?"

Anne pushed her hair out of her face while she fiddled with some burial urns. "Funny you ask. Truth is yes, I am really filthy rich. I'm not actually here for the loot – that's just a bonus. It's the Rotmulaag I'm after, the word of power. Which usually lies in the last room, past the Overlord."

They crept on, moving to the next chamber. Ciri picked the question she found most pressing out of the many she wanted to ask.

"Tell me of this Overlord."

"It's a big mean Draugr," Anne explained. "It has a…stronger whisper of life into it. It's more powerful, and it can Shout." She paused and reached for her honeycomb jar, as if the very mention of 'shouting' made her throat sore. "You'll see, the Overlords and I, it's always an ear-popping experience."

"Looking forward to it," Ciri jeered. "And these words of power you're looking for, magic?"

"Magic," She confirmed. "A very specific kind of magic, which very few can use and only I have a gift for. Well, and the dragons."

They couldn't continue their talk, because they were swarmed by the undead once again. They were resilient, Ciri had to give them that, and she was even mildly impressed when a draugr whose arms she had cut kept coming at her with nothing but its teeth. Even so, they had the intelligence of someone with half a brain rotten, so she did very little of feinting and pirouetting, and a lot of brute forcing her way through them. She even picked up a shield after a while, which she mostly used to bash the creature's skulls in until the blue glow in their eyes went out.

_Crude, but effective._

They stopped again at a heavy door with three rings and a slot where something should be put. The Dragonborn pulled out a claw shaped statuette made of sapphire and began fiddling with the mechanism, switching the engraved animals.

"How much am I paying you, again?" Anne abruptly wondered. "Because I usually give ten per cent, but my companions usually chicken out before the last chamber. Which we're close to, by the way. Your last chance to run."

"Dream on," Ciri grinned. "I'm not going for any lower than fifty."

"Fifty!" the Dragonborn hissed, but there was a smile on her face. She slid the sapphire claw into the stone sulks and twisted it, causing the discs to rearrange themselves. The stone door slowly slid down. "The nerve of you! You crush some skulls and want fifty percent? An armored troll could do what you're doing! With way less bitching!"

"An armored troll is way less pleasant to the eyes, I gather."

"And equally unpleasant to the nose! Here, why don't you earn your keep and do something a troll couldn't," Anne suggested, handing Ciri half a dozen lockpicks and a wrench as they walked past the fully lowered door. "Open that chest up for me, will you?"

_Well, how hard can that be?_

The witcheress knelt near the chest and slid the wrench and pick inside the lock, like she'd seen many people do. She fiddled with the tools, not entirely sure how it worked, while her friend rummaged through whatever other containers she could find.

The pick snapped between Ciri's fingers. She mentally cursed.

She went for it again and again, and was down to her last lockpick when she felt a warm body press against her back. Anne's hands moved gently, gliding over Ciri's arms and up to her knuckles. Her fingers interlaced with the Witcheress', her chin rested on the ashen haired woman's shoulder. Ciri was acutely aware of her breathing as she guided the lock picking movement, twisting her right wrist gently.

"Feel the vibration," The Dragonborn whispered, her bare index and middle fingers brushing lightly against Ciri's. She felt her cheeks burn. "Push the tumblers. Gently. Steady, steady. Listen to the clicking. And then –"

An abrupt movement of the left hand. The two women's hands moved together, and the lock creaked open.

" – there you go. Troll."

Anne pulled back, and Ciri released a breath she did very much know she'd been holding.

"You can cut the unresolved sexual tension with a knife," The witcheress muttered to herself, backing away from the chest to let her companion do the looting.

"What?"

"I said," she declared, "That' I'm not having one gold coin short of forty percent. Not one coin!"

The Dragonborn chuckled. "Maybe, if you do well against the Overlord, I'll give you thirty five…We're here. You ready?"

Ciri placed both her palms on one side of the thick double door ahead of them, and Anne mirrored her movements.

"Let's do this."

They pushed the doors open.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

" _Aav Dilon_ "

" _Zu'u beyn dilon –_ "

"Stop talking to it," Ciri complained, skillfully deflecting a blow of the Draug Overlord's axe. Anne took the opening and slid her sword between its ribs. The stink of burn rotten flesh attacked her nostrils as the undead pulled away from the blade with a hiss, its insides kindled. "It's unsettling!"

Anne sidestepped, dodging the Draugr's next axe stroke, and Ciri took the chance to strike it at its armor's knee joint. There was a crack, and the draugr's left leg half collapsed under its weight, its joint bending at a wrong angle.

The undead creature didn't seem to mind.

"I'm taunting," Anne objected. "It's normal to taunt when you fight."

Ciri twisted in a rather spectacular pirouette, moving her sword in an arc that would have hit the Draugr from behind, had it not been parried by the shaft of the creature's gigantic battleax.

" _Bolog Aaz, Mal Lir!_ " The monster screeched.

"See!" Anne sassed. "It just called me 'little worm'!  _Kod, zaam!_ "

Ciri moved to the Dragonborn's side, kicking the draugr's bad leg on her way. The knee held. The undead swung its axe in a circle that barely missed the two women.

"Stop talking to it on its language! It's creepy!"

They backed a bit and stood shoulder to shoulder, panting. The Overlord had proven to be more trouble than Ciri expected. It was smarter than the others, and more resilient to boot. It did not give them two a rest, and they engaged in combat once more.

Abruptly, the draugr backed away. Its ribcage expanded.

"Watch out, it's going to –"

" _Zun…_ "

Anne ducked under the swinging axe, throwing her sword up in the air as she did it. Ciri prepared to intercept a blow –

" _HAAL VIK!_ "

Swallow was violently ripped off her hands at the exact second the Dragonborn pulled her down; the axe swooped so close Ciri actually wondered if she accidentally got a new haircut.

"Motherfu –"

Anne rolled back and caught her sword in the air mid-fall, with practiced ease. She was laughing heartily. "When it says Zun, it's going to disarm you," the woman commented while simultaneously striking a crippling blow to the draugr's abdomen. Flaming intestines spilled out.

_Why thank you for this timely bit of information!_

She bolted across the room after her weapon, reciting every semantic and linguistic variation of the word 'coitus' she knew.

" _Yol…_ " Anne roared, " _TOOR SHUL!_ "

The room lit up in yellow light, and Ciri felt a wave of heat reach her back. She turned around, shielding her eyes with her free hand, and ran back to rejoin the fight. Or at least she tried to, because as Anne ended her shout, gasping for breath, the now completely charred yet still standing Overlord opened what was left of its mouth and retaliated.

" _FUS RO DAH!_ "

Ciri was intercepted halfway her trajectory by a flying Dragonborn, and the two were thrown back to the other side of the room, rolling over each other, miraculously managing to not stab one another's eyes off. She pushed herself to a sitting position, spitting out strands of ashen hair that had gone loose at some point.

" _Unslaad Krosis!_ " The draugr shrieked, limping towards them.

" _Krosis,_ " Anne agreed, stumbling to stand. She took a glance back, and Ciri met her gaze in an instant of wordless comprehension.

" _Wuld Nah Kest!_ "

The Dragonborn dashed forward at supernatural speed the same time Ciri blinked out of existence and materialized herself behind the Overlord. With simultaneous grace, the women struck, Anne spiraling with her blade while Ciri ducked, burying her blade upwards on the draugr's chest, straight through the heart. The undead's head flew straight out of its neck –

And the body exploded into blue dust.

Ciri took the moment to catch her breath, admiring the glowing particles float down and deposit themselves on her clothes and hair.

Anne sneezed. "Let me see to the –"  _Sneeze "_  – word wall. Must be close, I can hear it already. _"_

_Hear it?_

"There it is!" Her friend exclaimed, and Ciri chased after, not bothering to hold back her curiosity.

They stopped at a rather nondescript wall, with some mysterious carvings over it. Ciri was about to declare it looked rather anticlimactic, when one of the words engraved started glowing blue. Anne extended her right hand towards it and brushed her fingers on the deep sulks. The Dragonborn closed her eyes, and for a short moment, Ciri saw the glow grow brighter and bizarrely  _leak_ into her friend's body, as if light could be fluid. She even heard, or thought she did, distant hailing voices.

Anne opened her eyes, and for a split second, the witcheress saw intense blue eyes with reptilian slit pupils, and when their gazes met, a picture of wings flickered vividly on Ciri's mind. And then the pupils contracted back into rounds, and the Dragonborn let out a loud breath, like a sigh.

Ciri took an involuntary step back, clutching her sword tight. Anne shook her head as if to clear it.

_What the shit._

"That was weird. That was way, way creepy. Care to explain that?"

Anne noticed her offensive posture and raised her open palms in the universal gesture for 'peace'. "Sorry. Should have warned you about it."

"What exactly was 'it'?"

"I'm not so sure myself," She admitted. It's a…Dragonborn thing. I absorb something from these walls… knowledge, I guess. It's magic, I told you. I know the words already, but they have to be…unlocked. Given meaning. It sounds strange, but now I understand that word enough to call on its power."

"Your pupils were," Ciri pointed to her own eyes with her index and middle fingers, wriggling them up and down. "Like a viper's."

_Like Geralt's._

The thought was somehow comforting, and Ciri allowed her blade to lower a little.

"Like a dragon's," Anne corrected. "I've been told it happens. I'm really sorry." She nodded towards Swallow. "So, uh, planning to stab me? I'm still same old me, and to be fair, I did mention I'm part lizard. You know, 'Dragonborn'? It's in the name."

Deciding she did indeed have a point, Ciri acquiesced and sheated the sword on her back, turning her attention back to the wall. "What's it say?"

Anne scanned the carvings. "It's in verse. It goes more or less 'Here fell shield maiden Valkrys, who fought with courage, but was wrong to trust the power of a borrowed blade.' Sounds much better in Dragon, I swear."

"I doubt that, somehow," Ciri replied, her ears still buzzing from the battle. She tucked a white strand of hair below her ear. "And your magic word, which one was it?"

Abruptly, Anne slid her fingers between her ashen locks, combing them. Her gloved fingers made pleasant pressure on the witcheress' scalp, as she gently rebuilt Ciri's usual look. Her friend pulled out a lockpick from her pocket and slid it in to keep the bun in place.

" _Ov._ "

"I'm sorry?"

"The word," the Dragonborn clarified. " _Ov._ "

"Oh, the word, of course. Ov. What does it mean?"

She saw Anne's lips twist in a lazy smile, just as she licked bits of honeycomb from her fingers. "Trust."


	4. Chapter 4

The two pushed the entrance to the lighthouse open, leaning on one another to stand against the furious howling wind. They stumbled inside together, letting the door slam shut behind them. Ciri shivered – she was freezing. She slipped on the damp floor inside and cursed. Then she let out an even longer torrent of foul words when she took in the scene before them.

“Eugh – Shit,” Ciri covered her nose with her arm. There was a definite odor of decomposition exhaling from the body ahead of them. She figured with the current temperature, if the woman was in that state, she must have been dead for weeks at least. She noticed her friend’s gaze stop at the murder weapon – an axe buried on the woman’s abdomen, with a strange buglike aspect. “The fuck happened here, An?”

The Dragonborn touched the weapon with her boot. “Falmer, looks like. Look, there – a Chaurus.”

The thing looked like an evil crossbreed between a beetle, a cockroach and a horse, envisioned by Dandelion on cheap fisstech. It was a gross giant bug, with mean looking pincers. Its deathblow had clearly come from an axe – a normal one, this time – buried between its exoskeleton joints.

“Ew,” Ciri gave her veredict.

 Anne grabbed the woman’s body by the shoulder and dragged it across the room, placing it near the door. Then she kicked the chaurus towards the exit as well. Ciri opened the door and the two hauled the bodies outside, to be dragged away by the wind and roll down the mountain.

“Sovngarde take you,” The Dragonborn muttered. “Feel kind of bad for leaving the body to the wolves like this.”

 They pushed the door shut again.

“She’s dead, we’re alive,” the witcheress replied, though she could empathize. “We can bury her tomorrow, when the snowstorm breaks.”

Her friend nodded wordlessly, and the two moved to settle in for the night, the stench much more bearable now that the bodies were no longer inside.  Ciri found some robes inside the wardrobes, which made her grateful not to have to sleep in armor again. She slipped into some, then picked a pair of the warmer ones and looked for Anne on the opposite room. She did not know the reason, but upon seeing her, the witcheress could tell her friend felt truly upset.  The Dragonborn had sat down on the bigger room’s sole bed and was skimming through a small journal, her face contorted in a subconscious wince.

Ciri took a seat next to her companion, holding the pajamas on her lap. “Want to talk about it?”

Anne exhaled wistfully and closed the book between her palms. She stood static and in silence for what seemed like an eternity, staring off into space. Ciri waited.

“When the Nords first came to Skyrim,” She began at last, “The elves were already here. Snow elves, the Falmer, and the Dwemer, dwarves, they lived on this land.”

“I did notice a stunning lack of little people,” The witcheress admitted. “Though I just assumed it was something not of this world.”

“They weren’t little,” Anne retorted. “They were elves. Normal sized elves. The giants called them dwarves, and the name stuck for some reason.”

“Oh.”

She moved a bit closer and crossed her legs, resting her bare feet on the bed.

“We – our ancestors, I mean – fought them,” the Dragonborn continued. “The Snow Elves mostly, since the largest of the Dwemer’s cities were hidden underground. Unable to beat the Nords, the Falmer fell back and sought refuge among their similar. The Dwemer took them in, on one condition:  that they’d all give up their eyes by consuming a blinding toxin.”

“What the fuck,” Ciri muttered.

“Indeed,” Anne agreed. “The Falmer, trapped between a rock and a hard place, were forced to choose between darkness or death. Those who took the toxin were enslaved; those who didn’t were killed. And so it is that to this day, they lurk on the Dwemer cities beneath us, sightless, and with a lust for revenge. They survive in a strange symbiosis with the Chaurus, that creepy bug you’ve seen.”

There was, of course, a key component missing in this story, and when Anne didn’t say anything, Ciri couldn’t help but ask.

“What about the Dwemer? Do they just let their slaves run off killing people like that?”

“The Dwemer are gone.”

Ciri laid down on the double bed and stared at the ceiling. “Killed by the Falmer?”

“No, just gone,” Anne insisted. “Poof. Wiped out the face of Nirn. There one day, gone the next, the entire race. There’s no bodies, no nothing. If you go deep enough down the ruins, you can find half eaten food still on the plate, baths still drawn, words on paper missing their ending.  It remains the world’s biggest mystery to this day. A friend of mine, at the College of Winterhold, he tried to recreate the circumstances of their disappearance. You know what happened?”

“He vanished?”

“Right under my damn nose. Gone, just like that.”

“Life is strange,” Ciri stated, because she found that to be an accurate explanation to just about anything. “I brought you a change of clothes.”

“Thanks,” The Dragonborn replied. “It’s all right though, I’ll take first watch.”

Her friend walked to the main room and tossed somen damp wood into the fireplace. She lit it up with magic, and the fire took a while to catch. When it did, she tossed the booklet she’d been reading into the crackling flames.

“You think whatever got to them is still around?”

“Doubt it,” Anne answered. “They came from the cellar, and Habd, the father, he went down there and locked the door behind him.”

“Can he be…” Ciri trailed off. Her friend shook her head.

“He’s dead for sure. I’ll put something heavy over the door, just to be safe. Get some rest, I’ll call you when it’s your turn.”

 

\--- --- --- --- ----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Ciri woke up on her own not knowing how many hours had passed, yet the fire had burnt down to glowing embers, so she figured she’d long missed her turn to stand guard. She looked around the room, but she was alone. She took a brief moment to slip her boots in and pick up her sword, then went looking for her companion.

She stopped by the cellar entrance. It was closed and blocked by a thick wooden wardrobe, yet the floor was marked with bootprints made of some strange green goo. They led away from the door, and Ciri followed them upstairs towards the lighthouse’s peak. She climbed a creaky old ladder and pushed the trapdoor open, pulling herself to the deck.

Anne was there, leaning against the railing, apparently lost in the sunrise.  Ciri’s eyes darted to the beacon, where amidst the flames laid a burning skeleton. She walked to her friend’s side and mimicked her position, bumping her shoulder on the Dragonborn’s gently.

“You went down there to fetch him.”

It wasn’t a question. For a while, they stood in silence, and Ciri watched the horizon slowly be covered by hues of orange. The light reflected particularly bright on a rather magnificent statue of a woman holding the sun and a moon, not so distant from where they were.

“It was his last wish,” Anne whispered. “That his bones be put on a lighthouse fire, so he could look over the ocean forever.”

“You should have woken me,” Ciri chided, moving a bit closer so their sides just barely touched, her gaze still locked on the landscape. “We could have gone together.”

Anne lowered her head slightly but did not pull away. “I knew he’d be dead. It didn’t feel like a fair thing to ask, for you to follow me on that whimsical impulse.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” the witcheress insisted. “I care about the things important to you.”

The Dragonborn moved abruptly, her head snapping to face her friend almost as if she’d been shocked. Their eyes met for a brief moment and the two looked away simultaneously.  Ciri felt a light burn on her cheeks and blamed it on the cold.

“Thanks,” Anne mumbled, and Ciri felt her friend’s head nestle gently on her shoulder. She wrapped one arm around the woman in a single smooth movement.

_Damn this cold wind up here._

Anne closed her eyes, and Ciri felt her breathing take up a slow, steady rhythm.

“You should rest,” She suggested. “You had a rough night.”

The Dragonborn snorted. “Please. I once legged it from Rorikstead to Whiterun no halt. I can go days without sleeping. In fact, the only reason I stop to sleep is that _you_ need sleep.”

The sentence was punctuated by a long yawn.

“Mmh-hm,” Ciri mocked, touching her cold nose tip on the woman’s scalp. Anne shivered.

The sun had risen past the mountains now, making a distant city just barely visible. Ciri’s lazy gaze scanned the scenery, stopping at a landmark here and there. She watched the icebergs float in the ocean.

“I kind of wanted to bring the wife’s body over here,” her friend confided, her eyes only half open.

“I’ll do it.” She offered. “You get some rest.”

“Thanks. For everything, Ciri. You’re a godsend. My favorite godsend, actually – and I get a lot of those, believe me.”

Ciri believed it.

“You’re welcome, An. We’re even.”

 

\------------------ ------------------------------------------------

 

“Do you like cheese?”

The question was as random as questions went, or so Ciri thought, as she watched the tall shapes of the giants stomping around a bonfire the size of a small house. She’d seen many weird things, so these giants weren’t even on her top ten, but she found them astonishing nonetheless. They were unquestionably rational, though she was not sure to what extent. They wore rustic fur clothing and their skins were decorated with tattoos and tribal shaped scars. The sight of these four meter tall behemoths herding mammoths was definitely something worth taking a pause to watch.

“I like cheese,” She said absently.

“See those big sacks near the rocks? They’re mammoth cheese.” Anne pointed.

“Mm-hm.”

One of the giants was roasting an entire cow over the fire. She could smell it from the road.

_It is amazing that they can be this large and not collapse under their own weight. It is amazing. And I don’t see any females either? I wonder how they –_

“Let’s steal some.”

A pause. Ciri’s brain took a good five seconds to catch up to what her friend had just suggested. Then she proceeded to stare at the Dragonborn with her best ‘are you insane’ look.

“That,” The witcheress replied slowly, “Is the dumbest shit to ever come out of your mouth. Look at those things. They are gigantic. They’re even called fucking giants. Look at that club. With a club that size they can probably whack you all the way to the moons. Why would you want to steal from that. Why. Why?!”

Anne opened a wide smile that reached her twinkling eyes, and Ciri had a sudden urge to kiss –

_No_

“You’ve never had mammoth cheese, have you? You should try some. It’s delicious and exotic. Besides, it’s not like we’ll have a better chance to grab something for lunch.”

Ciri nervously rubbed her thumb on her forehead.

“Can’t we just buy some?” She pleaded. “Or, you know, at least steal from someone else? Maybe from creatures whose cocks aren’t as long as I am tall?”

“You can’t get it anywhere else, silly,” Anne teased. “Besides, what fun would there be in that?”

Ciri crossed her arms, adamant on keeping her head on her shoulders. “I’m not going to take that risk for a slice of cheese. No way. You don’t pay me enough for that, nope.”

“Fine,” The Dragonborn agreed.

_Wait, what? Really?_

“I’ll go get it myself. Even though I do pay you an unprecedented fifty per cent. Don’t worry, I’ll fetch you some, too, just because I’m in that great of a mood.”

And with that, the Dragonborn turned her back and ran off. Ciri watched her go. She looked around, spotted a nearby rock and took a seat, deciding she might as well enjoy the show. And then she fished out a flask of brandy and a secret sack of sweetrolls from her backpack, because even though Anne insisted they lived off nature, they were making so much gold Ciri could probably afford a butler, and damn it, she was not a hermit.

She took a bite off her treat and watched her friend stealthily approach the giant’s camp.

_But why should I not kiss her though?_

Anne crept from cover to cover, hiding behind rocks. The giants showed no signs of noticing her presence. Ciri kicked off her shoes and twiddled her toes.

_It’s not like she would object, what with the way she’s been flirting at me, yeah? Even her mates noticed it._

She looked up at the clouds for a brief moment, reflecting on that statement. Closing her eyes, she took in the feeling of the warm sunlight on her skin.

_Maybe because everyone you remotely like ends up fucking dead?_

The thought soured her mood, so she took a swig of her brandy. It went down burning her throat. It was strong, way stronger than the honeyed meads she was growing used to, and it warmed her insides up. Usually, she’d find that a relief, since they spent most of their time slogging through ice. On that particular day however, the sun was out and the weather was pleasantly warm, so she took off her gloves too, and laid them gently on the warm stone.

The Dragonborn had nearly reached the cheese sacks. Ciri took another bite of sweetroll.

_She looks pretty able to take care of herself though. Dragon hunting and all. We escaped the Wild Hunt even. Doesn’t get any worse than that, does it?_

Another gulp of brandy.

Anne pulled out a knife from her belt and sliced the sack open. The cheese flowed down from it, and was collected on a rather unsanitary leather satchel. One of the giants grunted, finally taking notice of the tiny creature stealing their food. It raised its club outrageously.

_Uh-oh. There you go, master thief._

Ciri blew a strand of hair off her face.

The giant’s rage didn’t escape the Dragonborn, and she slowly backed away from the crime scene. The giant howled, bringing the attention of other giants that took aggressive stances. Surprisingly enough, even the mammoths seemed to react, blocking off potential escape routes. Anne shouted, throwing a giant down on its butt. Ciri had to admit she found her partner’s superpowered yelling a little bit impressive.

Ciri sat perfectly still, tracking the Dragonborn’s running solely with her eyes, mentally giving instructions.

_Under the legs! Roll left! No, the other left, you moron, watch the club…! Whoop! Didn’t know you could go immaterial like that._

The witcheress finished her sweetroll and sighed, licking the sugar off her fingers. She took one last swig, placed the flask back in her bag and stood. In a flash, she blinked out of existence and back, holding an exerted, panting woman by the waist.

Anne plopped down on the ground, gasping for air. Ciri wordlessly dusted herself and walked to the rock she’d been sitting on, to retrieve her gloves and boots.

“Thanks for the rescue,” the Dragonborn croaked, her voice raspy.

The witcheress rolled her eyes. “You knew I’d do it. That’s why you didn’t even protest.”

 A sly smile. Ciri definitely wanted to kiss –

“Did you get the cheese at least? I wouldn’t want to end up without lunch.”

Anne arched a single eyebrow. “Don’t be cynical. I hope you saved me a sweetroll, you little shit.”

Ciri laughed.

 

\------------------

 

Anne had been distracted telling Ciri about the large statue they were approaching.

“…built in honor to the Prince Azura. She’s sister to Meridia, you know, the one who gave me my sword, Dawnbreaker.”

“Mhhm,” Ciri grunted, not paying much attention.

Which was not to say she wasn’t distracted herself. To the contrary, the witcheress had many, many things on her mind. A significant part of them were concerns about her pursuers who had been way too quiet since their last meeting. Another significant and inconvenient part of her thoughts was directed towards the babbling woman next to her. The cold had made Anne’s cheeks flush and it really brought out those electric blue eyes of hers. Ciri found it rather cute. A bit too cute.

_I have needs, physiological needs, gods damn it –_

It wasn’t unpredictable that the snow collapsed right under their feet. The two were still unpleasantly surprised as they rolled down with the slosh into a cave they would certainly had noticed if at least one of them had been looking where they were going. It was a relatively short fall, so they didn’t break any bones, yet once the two finally came to a stop, they were damp, cold and dirty. Needless to say, Ciri was less that pleased.

 “Mara’s fucking tits,” Anne complained, echoing the witcheress’ displeasure. She got up, a bit wobbly, and spat. “One of these days, I’m going to fall into my own sword and die.”

“Wear it on your back,” Ciri suggested, her voice trembling. She retrieved the things that had fallen from her backpack.

“I have no clue how you draw it from there,” The Dragonborn admitted, hugging herself and rubbing her palms on her arms to warm up. “Your elastic arms forever elude me.”

“Just tilt the scabbard. I could – ”

_Damn, I should kiss you._

“You could?”

Ciri cleared her throat. “I could show you sometime.”

Anne’s hands shook, and she opened and closed them, subconsciously conjuring a little flame with each movement. She tilted her head up to where they had fallen from. It was too high to reach, and too slippery to climb. Ahead of them, however, the cave continued down a steep slope to who knew where.

 Ciri’s nose dripped, and she carelessly wiped it with the back of her glove.

“Looks like no way but forward.”

“I could just blink us out of here,” The witcheress suggested.

She saw a smile tug at the Dragonborn’s lips. It made her feel a little warmer.

“I suppose you could. It’s so cold up there, though,” Anne commented. “And we’re over so many Dwemer ruins. Aren’t you curious where this might lead?”

Ciri was suddenly overtaken by a wave of fury. She was freezing, her body hurt, she was hungry, she’d had a trashy sleepless night haunted by the terrible, terrible feeling that Eredin must be up to something, and she was sick of this living off nature and adventuring shit, and even sicker of trying to keep her idiot of a companion out of danger.

Danger that just might include herself and her needs.

 She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists involuntarily. “Fine. Whatever.”

She saw her friend’s expression go from excitement to hurt to confusion to concern.

_You’re a jerk, Cirilla._

The thought made her even angrier, and she stomped off into the cave’s darkness. The Dragonborn and her glowing sword scurried close behind. She wasn’t paying particular attention to where they were going, such was her fury, but she couldn’t help but notice when they stopped at the remains of an old camp, likely of looters. The fire had long burnt to ashes, yet the tents were still up and the bedrolls were still unrolled, as if their owners had gone to a short visit to the toilet and never returned.

“Hey, did I do something? We can go, you know, if you wanna –”

“And where the fuck to?!” Ciri snapped. “To fuck around some more, freeze my toes off, eat my food raw, sleep over damn rocks, all the while ignoring the creatures plotting my demise?! I suppose they’re quiet because they know I’m bound to get myself killed anytime!”

The light from the pommel of the sword flashed to a reddish hue, and she saw a spark of rage on Anne’s eyes. She found it delightfully arousing.

_I should grab you. By the hair, to assert dominance._

_And kiss you._

“You know what, fuck you, Cirilla.  I have half of Skyrim looking for your people and they just haven’t shown up. Maybe you aren’t as important as you think,” The Dragonborn snarled. “And cut the fucking crap. I gave you the keys to my gods damned house. I didn’t ask you to come, I didn’t say it’d be easy, and if you wanted comfort you should have just stayed back. Just blink yourself out of my way, if you’re bothered so much.”

Anne didn’t wait for an answer. The witcheress was shoved to the side so hard she hit a wall, and the woman marched ahead without so much as a glance back. No, not marched, she actually _shouted_ herself away, uttering words that sped her to stunning speed, before her companion could so much as regain her balance.

Ciri saw red.

She drew her blade, and since the object of her anger wasn’t anywhere nearby, she let it out on the remnants of the camp instead. She sliced tents open, cutting the shafts that held them clean through. She kicked the firepit, stomped the bedrolls, her muscles burning as she trashed every single thing within reach, until she finally grew tired of the destruction and leaned against her sword to catch her breath.

She looked at the scene she’d made and suddenly felt incredibly silly. It wasn’t like her to throw this kind of tantrum –

_Yes, yes it is._

She let herself sit down with a sigh and hid her face in her hands.

She was still angry.

_I’m not getting what I want. It’s frustrating me. I’m just that damn spoiled._

The problem, she told herself, was not that she desired things that were impossible or inaccessible. She wanted many such things, of course. She wanted the Wild Hunt to leave her be, she wanted the prophecy on her back to turn out to be a fluke, she wanted many people back from the dead. She could deal with the things she wanted that just wouldn’t happen. The things that _could_ happen were another story.

She was really, really bad at denying herself the cravings within her reach that she _shouldn’t_ cave in to.

She chewed on that epiphanic nugget of self-knowledge for a good five minutes. And then she made the sensible and rational choice anyone on her place would have. She decided she’d chase after what she wanted, and take it.

_Preferably by the hair._

Even if she hadn’t been a witcher, the Dragonborn would still be easy to track. She left behind a breadcrumb trail of chaos and destruction that was impossible to miss. Every few steps, a dismantled spiderlike little robot could be seen, some missing their legs, some with crushed insides. Ciri even saw a Chaurus, its skull brutally smashed into pieces, green blood still dripping from the cracks on the exoskeleton.

She made her way through the slippery cave, avoiding pressure-plate triggered traps, leaning against the frozen walls for balance. She reached a point where the slope became an actual vertical drop, and the cave abruptly transitioned into the ruins of a city.

She took out her belt, wrapped it around a steaming copper pipe and used it as support to slide down. The heat coming from the ducts made her descent almost unbearable, and when she finally reached the floor, her skin was pink and sensitive to the touch. All that was quickly removed from her mind when she took in the scene in front of her.

_I’ve never seen Anne angry,_ she realized. _Not like this._

There was blood on the walls. Not the sword slice kind of blood either, but the kind of spatter resulting from breakneck speed crashes. The creatures, whatever they were – because there was no way of knowing – had been all but liquefied. It was impossible to know if they had been crushed to death or torn apart before by whatever force hit them. Bits of intestines hung on the lamp cases, giving the light a sickening reddish hue. There was no telling how many had been killed. Fragments of limbs scattered around, here an arm, here a femur –

Ciri’s stomach turned, and she looked away.  Her boots splashed on something. She did not look down. She kept walking. The place reeked of iron. It was –

_Monstruous…_

“By the Eternal Fire,” she whispered, stepping up the staircase slowly.

There was a robot on the ground. It was at least twice her size, made of the same yellowed metal as the structures around her, with weapons instead of hands: an axe on one side, a hammer on the other. Its scorched sculpted head had been carved to resemble a man’s – the remains of it, that was, because half of the machine’s head was missing, molten off by a burst of incredible heat. Ciri traced the irregular smooth edges of the smelted metal, and then dragged her fingers down to the automaton’s breastplates.

There were claw marks. Definite claw marks, deep sulks in the armor, leading to the point where the creature’s heart would have been. There was a hole there, its edges crumpled like paper. She could see the clawed being had torn an opening with its nails and ripped off the robot’s core.

_What the shit, Anne._

She moved on.

She found the Dragonborn in a room where the roof was speckled with glowing mushrooms that looked like stars.  The sight was breathtaking, and Ciri had to pause for a moment to take it in. The blue glow that bathed the place was barely strong enough to see, and the room was otherwise covered by darkness –

Except for one spot up and away, where Anne knelt in silence, eyes closed. Her sword rested over her knees, its pommel emitting a faint light that illuminated its owner’s peacefully still features. Every few seconds, something in the air around her would shimmer and take shape. A spectral dragon skull covered her head for a second; ghostly talons materialized and dematerialized on the next. A draconic tail. A brief flash of ethereal wings.

Ciri closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she stood next to the Dragonborn.

The witcheress approached and brushed her fingers against the woman’s shoulder. The other stood and turned with a movement so quick it seemed like a spasm. The air vibrated, and suddenly there were claws and teeth and scales. Green eyes met blue, reptilian electric blue eyes.

 Anne stepped back, blinked. Her pupils contracted back into circles, and the immaterial second skin that had covered her dissipated. Ciri took a step forward, and another. The Dragonborn’s face twisted into bewilderment and anger.

_Damn, I’m in trouble_

Ciri moved closer. Anne backed away.  They made eye contact. The witcheress chased her slowly, ever so slowly. Step by step. Dealing with something wild.

_So much trouble_

The apprehension caused by Dragonborn’s outburst was gone. The trepidation and the sense of danger was not. Closer, closer. Anne’s back met a wall. Ciri outstretched her hand and pushed her palm near the woman’s head, trapping her. Closer and closer.

And then Ciri stood still.

They held one another’s gaze for one second, five, ten. The witcheress’ heart drummed. Hard. A wave of heat coiled in her belly, yet her fingertips were cold and trembling.  Anne tilted her chin up arrogantly and arched an eyebrow.

A dare.

Ciri grabbed her by the hair. And kissed her.

Her lips were dry against Ciri’s moist ones, and they stuck together. Ciri parted them with her tongue, feeling the taste of honeycomb and the warmth of Anne’s breath.  A low growl. Fingers on her waist, clutching, her body twisting, positions flipped, her body slammed against the wall. Her bottom lip caught between teeth.

Their bodies pressed together, way, way too warm. Ciri’s hair was pulled loose. Her fingers glided over scales until they found soft skin that was oh so satisfying. The air was sucked out of her lungs, and she heard her own quiet gasps. She grabbed Anne’s shoulder, twirled them again, pushed her hard against the pillar, dug her teeth on the woman’s neck. Her struggle for dominance was only mildly successful.

The Dragonborn exhaled with annoying silence. Ciri dug her fingers on Anne’s scalp and made their lips meet again, roughly and demanding, trailing her palms down to the other’s nape, pushing her tongue between open lips. This time there was an audible response, to which she replied with one of her own. Her pulse quickened when she felt Anne’s hands move from her cheeks to her shoulder and below…

Anne’s fingertips brushed against Dawnbreaker’s pommel, and the two were engulfed completely by darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Ciri paced back and forth on the wooden floor. What little patience she had was quickly running thin. She walked to the kitchen, plucked a grape from the bunch on the table, then walked back to the bedroom. Rinse, repeat, until the grapes ran out, and then she picked up an apple and bit into it.

_The fuck’s taking her so long?!_

She decided she had to explore. Even though she didn’t really want to meddle on Anne’s things, she couldn’t help it, she was bored and the wait was killing her. The bedroom and kitchen were fairly dull, but on the basement, she found some training dummies and a very interesting magical table. It had a pentagram with glowing runes carved into it, and was adorned with a skull. There was a book on top of it, but its leather cover was turned down and there was no title on its spine. Next to it, strange sharp edged crystals seemed to vibrate.

 Cir was tempted. She wanted to examine the table and the mysterious gems, but the most basic of common sense told her to not meddle with unknown arcane objects. The desk was crackling with energy, and the stones looked like they just might reveal a whole new world of knowledge and pleasure… or explode. The book though, seemed like a perfectly normal object, despite its placement.

_Doesn’t it?_

She compromised with her curiosity and picked the tome up.

She held her breath. Waited.

Nothing went boom.

She ran upstairs with her new plaything, almost giddy, and sat down in front of the fireplace. There was no title in the cover either, just a strange dragon shaped metallic crest. Ciri traced it with her fingertips. It was warm to the touch, though if it was enchanted or if it was just residual energy from the table, she could not tell.

She carefully parted it open. The yellowed pages were a testament to its age, though the title did not disappoint.

The Book of the Dragonborn.

_Oh hey, what do you know._

She kicked off her boots, crossed her legs on top of the fancy chair, and with as much delicacy as she could muster, flipped the first page. She licked her lips and read it out loud, for no particular reason.

“Many people have heard the term ‘Dragonborn’ – we are of course ruled by the ‘Dragonborn Emperors’ – hmmm.”

It was engrossing. It talked about how that world had been sealed away from others by a pact, and Ciri paid particular attention to that bit, though the details were still just as elusive as they had first been when Anne explained it. At no point the book mentioned ‘abrupt vaporization of invaders’, which she found a bit disappointing.

When she heard the house’s door open, she had just reached the final bit about a prophecy. She briefly considered hiding the book away, then shrugged it off and resumed reading, slouched carelessly near the cozy fire.

“You nosy bookworm,” Anne accused when she entered the room, her arms crossed, her face twisted in a look of mock reproach.

“My prophecy is considerably more elegant and dramatic than yours,” Ciri commented, closing the book.

“We’re comparing prophecies now?” Anne countered, placing her sword on a weapon rack. “Because mine has a ten meter tall illustrative sculpture to it.”

“Yeah, mine has me bursting into flames at the end,” The witcheress retorted bitterly. “So, what do you have?”

Anne paid the kitchen a brief visit and came back with a loaf of bread between her teeth. She pulled a bite off.

“Good news. Karliah has finally found a trace of your guys.”

“And?” She prompted.

Anne reached out and pulled a rolled up parchment from her belt. Ciri snatched it and pulled it open.

“You got your own ‘wanted by the Thalmor’ leaflet now!” The Dragonborn exclaimed enthusiastically.

The witcheress stared at the pamphlet, where her face had been drawn with moderate accuracy. They got her features fairly right, right down to the sharp cheekbones and expressive eyes. The scar was on the wrong side of the face,  though.

“I’m going to have it framed so it can hang next to mine. And Brynjolf’s. And Heimskr’s, and Delphine’s, and Delvin’s, Esbern’s, and… to be honest, I’m just waiting for my collection to hit fifty-two, so I can turn it into a card deck. You would be…queen of hearts.”

Anne winked. Ciri rolled her eyes. “Who are these people?”

 “They’re elves. The Thalmor represents the third Aldmeri Dominion, an empire who rules over Valenwood, Elsewyr and the Summerset Isles. They’re…a pain, really. Have been wanting to take over the Mede Empire for a while. There was this War, a long while ago – ”

“Eredin is not the kind to make friends,” Ciri interrupted. “You think he’s… allied with them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Though that wouldn’t really be necessary,” Anne pondered. “Eredin’s an elf and the Thalmor are elven supremacists, and that’s all they need to strike a deal. The Thalmor would blacklist anyone who lacks pointed ears for the right favors or the right amount of gold. And then…”

The Dragonborn stopped, bit her bottom lip anxiously. Ciri lifted an eyebrow.

“They’ve been on my trail for a long time,” She confessed, nervously rubbing her palm on her scalp. “We’ve clashed heads a lot, and then I just might be a Septim, and… I guess what I’m trying to say is, you might be wanted…by association. I’m truly sorry, Ciri. Might be I got you into this.”

The witcheress exhaled and looked up. She stared fixedly at the ceiling for a bit. “It’s fine. Not your fault, and they were bound to catch up to me anyway. What am I even wanted for?”

 “Talos worship.”

Ciri turned to stare at Anne with a blank face.

“What the fuck is a Talos?”

The Dragonborn shrugged, picking up a couple bottles of mead. “A distant ancestor of mine. Maybe.”

Anne tossed her the flask and she caught it midair. She uncorked it and took a long swig.

“What’s our next –”

She was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open. A quick exchange of glances with her company told her that the guest was unwelcome. Her hand reached for the sword on her back, while Anne quietly drew a dagger from her belt. They tensed when the invader’s shadow grew closer and closer, until the figure of a man took shape –

“Brynjolf!” Anne hissed. “I’m going to fucking stab you on accident someday if you keep picking my locks!”

The redheaded man half-smiled slyly, but his face was tense. He spared Ciri a look, narrowed his eyes, then walked closer to Anne and whispered something to her ear. Whatever it was, it must have been grave, because the color suddenly drained from her face and she grabbed a dresser to steady herself. Something tightened in the witcheress’ chest, and she stood up.

“We have to get you out of here, lass,” The man mumbled, grabbing the Dragonborn by the shoulder and shaking her lightly. “There’ll be people after you soon – in fact, the damn elves must be on their way already.”

The woman nodded and began to throw things inside her backpack.

“Elves? What’s going on here?”

Their eyes met, and Ciri could almost taste her distress. The whatever-it-was feeling intensified. She ran up to them and helped the Dragonborn pack. She’d been in too many escapades to know the basic rule of running first, questions later.

“I can sneak you out of Riften, but I need you to tell me where to take you.”

Brynjolf handed Anne a hooded cloak, hesitated, then reluctantly tossed one for Ciri.

“I, ah, shit!I don’t know, Bryn, how did this even –”

“Think, lass, think! Where?”

Ciri’s hand chose that moment to grow a life of its own, and she watched her thumb brush gently against the Dragonborn’s knuckles. Anne’s hand responded with a twitch, and the woman calmed down a tad. Brynjolf observed the exchange emotionlessly.

“Right. Okay. Fine. High Hrothgar, take me to the Greybeards, they can’t get to me – _fuck!_ Forget that, Sky Haven Temple is where I have to be, Delphine’s going to fuck it up for sure, Dagon’s cock, shit –”

“An,” Ciri pleaded, this time grasping both her – _friend’s? girlfriend’s? –_ hands with confidence. “ _I_ can get you out of here. Wherever you want. Just say the word. And though you don’t have to tell me what happened, I would appreciate it if you did.”

Anne and Brynjolf exchanged meaningful looks.

“Bryn has just arrived from Solitude –” She began.

“Lass…”

“I trust her, Bryn.” A hand squeeze. Eye contact. “The emperor was assassinated. I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble from many different directions. I don’t think of myself as a Septim, but I am Dragonborn, Akatosh’s will is very clear about having his blood as emperors, and word has gotten around, so I’m not just a suspect, I’m… I’m…”

“You’re a serious candidate to the throne,” Ciri completed.

“Possibly _the_ candidate to the throne, depending on how many more Medes were killed. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“You might have,” The witcheress warned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But not now. Now, we move. I don’t know where Sky Haven Temple is, so you’ll have to tell me the closest place we’ve been.”

“We haven’t much been around there at all…it’s fine though, once we’re away from big cities… Bryn, what about you?”

The man didn’t reply, just wordlessly stepped into darkness. The shadows extended tendrils towards him, wrapping him into an embrace. He became gradually harder and harder to see. Anne acquiesced with a nod.

“Thank you for the warning, Bryn. Things could have ended up badly without it.”

From the door, came the sound of knocking. Ciri took a quick glimpse at the entrance direction, and when she looked back, Brynjolf was completely gone.

“Open up!” A heavily accented voice called out. “By the order of the Dominion, open the door immediately!”

“Where to?” Ciri pressed.

The knocking became banging, and she heard the door violently swing open.

“Karthwasten,” Anne hushed. “Small settlement, near two silver mines. We’ve been there, remember? Helped save a little girl that was to be a Sigil –”

“Got it,” The witcheress nodded.

Three armored men entered the room at that instant, and though their helms hid their ears, the slanted eyes were enough to tell they were elves. One of them drew his blade and commanded the others in an incomprehensible language. Anne replied with what had to be insults in that same language, but Ciri didn’t pay attention. She closed her eyes –

She looked around. They had landed with perfect precision, exactly where she’d meant them to be, even though the place was fairly unmemorable and they had only passed there twice. Even though she had been carrying an agitated, badmouthing woman, and even though she had been beyond stressed.

She mentally patted herself in the back.

“You’re really good at this,” the Dragonborn praised.

“I am,” Ciri agreed. “Even by my standards, this was an impeccable hop. Damn, they don’t call me Lady of Worlds for nothing. Chew on _that,_ Caranthir.”

“Cocky little shit,” the Dragonborn smirked.

Ciri didn’t answer. She closed the distance between them, leaned in, and kissed her.

_What am I doing?_

Anne kissed her back.

 

* * *

 

 

The emperor’s assassination was definitely an action coordinated by the Thalmor, and they certainly had plans about the Dragonborn. Ciri knew that because halfway through the road to Sky Haven temple, the elves were already waiting, and though bad news traveled fast, they were certainly not as swift as a teleporting witcheress and her companion.

No, if they were already there, they knew in advance that the emperor was going to die, and that was one of the places Anne might run off to.

Ciri ducked low to avoid a sword blow, then feinted to one side and swung her blade to the opposite one.  She intercepted a likely fatal blow from the Dragonborn’s assailant even as she dodged a stab from the elf she was facing. Her adversary came from her left, and she pirouetted to the right, retracting her sword. She flickered her wrist slightly, and her blade caught the second elf’s throat. He stepped back, dropping his weapon and covering his bleeding neck with his hands.

To her side, Anne hit her enemy’s helmet with the flat of her sword, staggering him. Ciri took the chance to give him a sweep kick, and the elf fell flat on his face. She hit the back of his neck with her heel and heard a _crunch_ followed by gurgling sounds.

_“Fus Ro Dah!”_

The last Thalmor flew past Ciri and down the hill they fought on at stunning speed. He hit the ground hard and didn’t move, but a pool of blood formed around his body as it slowly slid down the slope. Ciri double-checked the area for enemies, and sheathed Swallow on her back when she found none.

“You know,” The witcheress began, trotting up to Anne, who had been looting the dead elves’ bodies. “This is the first time we face an enemy with thumbs and a whole functioning brain, and I must say, your swordplay is absolute shit.”

“I am a thief!” The Dragonborn complained. “A rogue, dammit, not a white knight! My main strategy is to avoid direct confrontation!  I’m a pacifist!”

“You could have fooled me, with your fancy sword,” Ciri teased. “I should have known it was decorative.”

“It glows!”

Ciri laughed. “I honestly wonder how you survived before I came along.”

“Hmpf. No one ever saw me coming.”

 

* * *

The Blades, Ciri quickly learnt, were a small group of trained individuals who supposedly sworn service to the Dragonborn. Emphasis on ‘supposedly’, because some of them seemed to have their own agenda. They were also used to the Dragonborn’s  antics, and that she could tell because they were happily playing cards while Anne brought the place down with her voice. 

“You’ll what, you’ll what?!” Anne roared, and the ground actually shook. “Say that again, Delphine, I double dare you!”

“Dragonborn…” Esbern stated with calm. “It is your duty and your destiny –”

“ _Fuck you!_ ”

This time the whole building wobbled, making dust fall from the ceiling and over their heads. Ciri reassessed the safety of the structure.

“Don’t worry,” Lydia commented, noting her concern. “The Temple was built to be Dragonborn proof.”

 Ciri graced her with a friendly smile. “They always have such fierce disagreements?”

“Always. I used to be worried she’d bring the Temple down, but after these old walls survived that one quarrel about Paarthurnax, I’m sure they’ll hold.”

“It is your birthright! You’re a Septim!” Delphine argued.

“You don’t know that!” Anne countered. “You can’t know that! The fuck proof do you have?! Some old logbooks?! Adoption papers?!”

Lydia took a bite off the loaf of bread she’d been eating, casually flipping a page on the book she held. She poked her little finger inside her ear and rubbed it.

“Don’t get them wrong. The Blades are fiercely loyal to the Dragonborn, and there is no Grandmaster more suitable than Delphine. Anne knows that. It doesn’t mean they usually agree on anything.”

“Are there many more of you?” Ciri queried.

“The exact number is undisclosed,” Lydia explained. “But yes, there are. All personally recruited by the Dragonborn herself. Each one of us here is a Master – the chief blade of their Hold. We hold an initiation ritual for each recruit, and then they’re assigned to one of us.”

Ciri took a moment to digest that bit of information. She’d known the Dragonborn was politically significant, but never to that extent. Her net of contacts and allies extended further than the witcheress had previously realized.

  _Your own personal guerrilla, huh?_

“You are Dragonborn! That is proof enough!” Delphine raged. “You were gifted with Akatosh’s blood and that gives you a bigger claim than anyone else!”

“I renounce it! I abdicate! I want nothing to do with it!”

“I’m going to go deaf,” Lydia complained. Ciri found herself agreeing to it.

“It is the will of Akatosh –” Esbern tried.

“Fuck the will of Akatosh! I am so damn done with being his plaything!”

Ciri sighed and stood up. “I’ll see to it.”

The room burst into laughter, and two of the men actually clapped.

“Good luck with that,” Lydia smirked.

Ciri stomped out of the sleeping chambers and down into the main room, where Alduin’s Wall loomed ominously over a long dining table. The Dragonborn stood there, pacing back and forth, positively fuming.

“For fuck’s sake, Anne, quit being a child,” Ciri growled.

The Dragonborn froze in place. The witcheress’ eyes met those orbs of blue rage. The temperature on the room suddenly seemed a lot warmer.

“I’m going to hit you,” The Dragonborn snarled. “Say that again, little shit.”

Ciri arched an eyebrow arrogantly and slowly closed the distance between them, taking her gloves off and tossing them on the table on the way.

“I said,” She repeated cynically. “Quit being a child, Septim. You’re powerful, I’ll give you that, but so am I. The difference is, you fight like shit and I don’t. So come on. I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

The Dragonborn lunged.

 

* * *

Ciri was sitting in the temple’s courtyard, admiring the horizon, when she felt a blanket gently thrown over her shoulder. She looked up and watched Anne take a seat next to her. The Dragonborn laid her head down on the witcheress’ lap, still nursing a bust lip.

“You _could_ have taken it easy,” the woman mumbled.

Ciri grinned. “I could. You could have been less of a prick.”

“I could,” The Dragonborn admitted. Ciri absently ran her fingers through jet-black curls. Anne closed her eyes.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“Mmmh. Identity change?”

Ciri pinched her.

“Ow, ow, fine!” Anne pouted, then sighed. “I have…an idea. It’s a pretty dangerous one though.”

“My favorite ones,” Ciri commented, twirling a lock of hair between two fingers.

 The Dragonborn rolled a little and faced her.  “You know –”

“If you’re going to tell me I don’t have to come, you can just skip to the part where you tell me your plan anyway.”

Anne scoffed. “I’m the one supposed to be helping _you_ –”

Another pinch.

“Ow, ow, gods damn it, fine! I need to figure out my thrice-blasted family heritage, yeah? Once I know that for sure, well, I can think about it then.”

Ciri fixed her eyes on the horizon. “Whatever happened to your parents?”

“According to Delphine, my mother used to be a prominent member of the Order of the Hour – that’s the military branch of the Akatosh Chantry. In order to keep the bloodline alive and away from the Thalmor, she had one child – me – and gave me to the Blades. Delphine was the one to bring me to Skyrim and leave me at Honorhall.  She lost track of me when I ran away though. My mother was unable to conceive again, and ended up killed, though if by the Thalmor or not, Delphine doesn’t know.”

Ciri’s fingers playfully slid from her hair to her face, tracing her features.

“And the father?”

“Unknown,” Anne continued. “So you see, there is no one to attest to it, and even if my mother were alive, there is still no solid proof of the lineage.”

“And that’s where your brilliant plan comes in?”

She rubbed her thumb lightly over Anne’s lips. The woman trembled.

_I’ve got you wrapped around my finger, haven’t I?_

“Yes…well… there _is_ someone who knows the truth and may be able to prove it. Remember I told you legend goes that the Hero of Kvatch turned into the God of Madness after Martin died? I figured I could go on and ask him.”

“Ask a god,” Ciri mused. “I’ve never met any gods. I’ve met creatures who some claimed were gods, and people who claimed to be gods. But never an actual god, not really.  A god of Madness, no less. I’m up for it. What will you have me do?”

“Nothing,” Anne admitted. “You can be around as I summon, if you want to. Summoning Sheogorath is quite easy – offer a bear or a wolf pelt during a storm. And once he’s here… well, no use planning that. Things just get really crazy. To be honest, I’d rather know you’re safely tucked under some blankets, having stew.”

“Hey, me too!” Ciri mocked. “Sounds like a much better idea than meeting a madgod. You know what, count me out, rest assured that I’ll just play cards with the Blades all night.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “How’s sunset sound? We can meet here.”

“Deal. Esbern has promised me a full guided tour of Alduin’s Wall, I might hold him to that.”

Anne pushed herself up to a sitting position and shook her head, throwing her hair back into place.

“Ugh, don’t worry, he’ll be overjoyed to have someone actually pay any attention. Hey, Ciri...?”

“Yes?”

Their eyes met, and Anne looked away, her cheeks flushed.

“Never mind.”

 

* * *

“I see a wolf pelt, I see a Septim. What I do not see is a storm,” Ciri declared, pointing at the clear skies with open arms. “Should we rain dance? Is that part of the summoning?”

The Dragonborn rolled her eyes, then cleared her throat. Her brow furrowed with concentration.

“ _Strun…Bah Qo!_ ”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, abruptly, the sky darkened with black storm clouds, and thunder exploded on top of the Temple. Water began falling, slowly at first, until it abruptly became a downpour, and it took her about thirty seconds to be completely soaked. The wind picked up violently, so much, Ciri soon found herself ducking behind a wall.

“Eternal Fire, couldn’t you have summoned a mild storm?! Did it have to be a hurricane?!”

Thunder boomed next to them.  

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Anne hissed. “I’ll make sure to ask the Greybeards for a ‘summon minor drizzle’ shout next time I visit!”

“Just call the god!” Ciri yelled over the howling wind.

Anne gritted her teeth and lifted the wolf pelt in the air. “Ah, Sheogorath! I offer you this pelt and…summon you…”

_She has no idea what she’s doing._

Thunder exploded centimeters away from the two, and Ciri was momentarily blinded by the flash. She was overcome by a nauseating feeling of falling in every direction, and when her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw –

A long, long dining table. She was sitting on a fancy chair, wearing clothes that were not hers, and her hand was holding a glass of wine. Her weapon was gone.  Anne was sitting to her left, wearing similar robes, with an exotic hairdo and impeccable make up on her face.  She was equally unarmed, and judging by her face, equally confused.

_What the –_

“Oh, so you are finally here! Welcome, welcome!”

 A woman, whoever she was, called out to them.

  _The eyes._

She had cat eyes, yellowed with vertically slanted pupils, the eyes of a witcher. Ciri’s breath caught on her throat and she swiftly scanned the whole figure. The woman wore a suit that was half orange, half purple, and carried a pretty nondescript crane. She grinned, and a red danger light lit up on Ciri’s mind.

When the witcheress looked upon the stranger’s eyes again, they were bland brown.

_What? What?!_

“…What?” Anne asked. “Where exactly is…here?”

It was a party of sorts, Ciri could tell, if only by the sheer amount of people around the table. It went on for dozens, perhaps even hundreds of meters, the seats taken by noble looking people of all different kinds. Men, women, old and young; at some point she even spotted a dark-skinned elf. The briefly-witcher-eyed woman had taken place directly ahead of Anne, and Ciri was sitting across a peaceful looking young man, who had the gentlest gaze the witcheress had ever seen.

“Why, the Septim Dynasty tea party, of course! And they are so happy to welcome their newest member, they could tear your intestines away! I’m not a Septim, of course, I’m Sheogorath, but I am the host – _hostess_ – host??  No, no, hostess, today –”

Ciri briefly considered how good were her chances of grabbing the Dragonborn and blinking the hell away from that place.

The man shook his head and sighed. “You’re scaring them, Ann Marie. Poor Cirilla looks ready to pounce.”

_You bet._

“Wait,” Anne interrupted. “You mean to say Sheogorath is actually called –”

“ _FLAYED ALIVE_! Angry immortal skipping rope with your entrails!”

Some twenty meters away, a drunk youngster climbed up the table and burst into singing. Someone cheered. Someone cursed. On pure reflex, the witcheress dodged a flying mug.

 Ciri pinched the bridge of her nose. “What…is going on here?”

The man shot her a sympathetic look.

“The Septims, the Septims!” Sheogorath interjected.  “You know some of them! There, Pelly, Pelagius the Maaaad –”

“Hi, Annie!”  The man in question waved. The Dragonborn waved back sheepishly.

“You remember him, of course, you interrupted my vacations inside his brain –”

“Hard to forget,” Anne mumbled.

“Oh, oh, and there we have the infamous Potema Septim, the Wolf Queen herself! I heard you two met and had a wonderful time together!”

By the looks of pure hatred Anne was getting, Ciri could see their encounter had been anything but wonderful.

“Yeah…” her friend trailed off. “Joyful circumstances.”

Potema spat.

“ – the moron on top of the table is Antiochus and of course, this one here is Martin, my favorite Septim. Don’t be sad, I’m fond of you! You’re probably my…third favorite. Tiber couldn’t come, sadly. Anyone else you see is probably Uriel something or other.”

“A pleasure to meet you both, Anne Septim and Cirilla of Cintra,” Martin offered politely.

“I never said ‘Cintra’. Not even to Anne.  I said Vengerberg. How can you possibly know –”

“Oh, and your mother is here somewhere around too, Last!  Her name is Bridgid Valkyre Potter Cullen Jackson Wayland –”

“Frigg Septim,” Martin corrected.

“Details, details.”

Antiochus stumbled towards them with an excited exclamation. Ciri reconsidered her previous idea of grabbing Anne and blinking away.

“So I am one of you,” Anne affirmed tentatively.

“You’re the Septimiest Septim in the last hundred years,” Sheogorath babbled. “I can see little bits of Martin in you so many generations away, and it is amazing.”

The god surprised Ciri by giving a gentle peck on Martin’s lips. The man smiled tenderly.

_This is insane._

“Okay,” Anne mumbled. “Okay, okay. I suppose I don’t get a say in that?”

Martin burst out laughing. “Trust me, I know how you feel.”

Ciri snatched a bottle from a tripping Antiochus and took a long swig. “ _I_ am not a Septim,”

“Me neither!” Sheogorath exclaimed.

“But you are our hostess,” Ciri argumented. “I, on the other hand, was brought here. To the Septim Tea Party, when you, your –” She paused, looked for a word. “ – your Madliness, you had the power to leave me out of this rather exclusive reunion.”

Martin’s eyes twinkled. Sheogorath clapped. “This one is sharp. I like her, Martin. She has pretty eyes, too. I might keep them.”

“You may not,” Martin chided.

“Listen –” Anne began.

Sheogorath stuck out her tongue. “It was his idea that you be brought here. He thinks you deserve a chance to defend yourself.”

_Defend myself from what?_

She was liking this less and less by the second.

“You see, he thinks there’s feelings between the two of you. Potema on the other hand thinks it was just sex and hopes you’ll break her heart, but that woman has never felt a drop of love in her life. There’s actually a betting pool, and ‘casual sex’ beats ‘true love’ four to one.”

Sheogorath faced Ciri expectantly. The witcheress blinked.

“I really don’t think –” Anne protested.

 “Well? Which one it is?”

She could almost feel Anne’s stare drilling a hole on her skull.

 “…That’s personal.”

Sheogorath huffed with distaste, and Martin smiled.

“Look,” Anne tried again. “We’re actually here for a reason. The emperor’s dead –”

“And the will of Akatosh is clear,” Someone else interrupted, and the Dragonborn slammed her fist on the table in frustration.

“Sithis and damnation, will you please let me finish!”

“Hi, Bridgit!” Sheogorath piped.

Anne froze. For an incredibly tense moment, the whole hall fell silent. Ciri held her breath and turned to look at the newcomer. Anne’s mother. The resemblance was uncanny, from the jet-black hair – which the mother wore braided – right down to the electric blue eyes, which seemed to have come all the way from Martin.

The differences however were also very outstanding. Frigg had a tense militaristic posture that much differed from her daughter’s sly gait. Likewise, the unsavory greeting to a daughter she never met told of a coldness that was so very opposite to Anne’s curious friendliness and lighthearted wit.

The daughter opened her mouth. Closed it. Gritted her teeth. Ciri bumped her knee on Anne’s gently. The woman exhaled forcefully.

“As I was saying,” She all but hissed. “The emperor is dead.”

“And as _I_ was saying,” Frigg continued. “The will of Akatosh is clear. The throne was never meant to be the Mede’s. You’ll take it, retaliate on the Dominion and reestablish the Empire, as it meant to be.”

“The will of Akatosh can kiss my ass!” Anne growled, standing up violently. She was slightly shorter than her mother.

Frigg scowled with open scorn.

“She’s got your temper, Ann Marie dear,” Martin mumbled.

“I like her,” Sheogorath nodded.

“There was Alduin, and then Miraak, and then Harkon, and now this shit? Will he ever leave me be? _Will he ever?!_ Or will he use me until I’ve run dry, until I see no choice but sell my soul to a Daedra, until my hatred runs deep enough that I create a prophecy to hurt him, unti I, I -”

“ – Become god of madness to escape his speechless plots?” Sheogorath suggested in a scarily sane tone. “Cruel gods, silent gods.”

“Shit, when he sent me to Ciri, I thought maybe finally, _finally_ it was about me and her and our wellbeing and not yet another stupid divine plot, but everything had to come with a catch!”

“A catch, daughter dear, yes, a catch, and you are naïve if you think you can escape his will. To the contrary, he has everything in place. He has you under his thumb and hooked by the heart, _again._ ”

An idea began to form on the back of Ciri’s mind. A terrible, awful idea. An irrevocable sense of stupidity and guilt she could not quite put her finger on. Anne didn’t speak.

“Akatosh plays his cards proper,” Frigg whispered. “Not once have you acted in his name. You did it because your heart is soft. You stopped Miraak, because you had grown fond of the people of Solstheim; you stopped the Tyranny of the Sun, because wonder of wonders, you grew to care for one who anyone else would have seen as a monster.”

The mother pulled something from her pocket – a red pendant with a red diamond on its center. Martin winced.

“Who had the emperor killed, Last?”

And then suddenly it clicked inside Ciri’s head, and the realization punched the breath out of her lungs.

“Don’t call me that. And I don’t know,” Anne croaked. “I don’t know, emperors get assassinated all the time.”

Sheogorath shook her head almost sadly. “Who had the emperor killed, Snow White?”

Anne turned to face the witcheress. Ciri had a hard time holding her gaze.

“Eredin did,” She affirmed with certainty. “Because… I’m not sure. To restart the Dragonfires, maybe, and have a chance of getting this world’s barriers down. To get a chance at your blood. Or to get you out of his way. He’s no fool, he knows as long as we are together, his chances are slim. But I know it was him, because…”

“Because with the emperor dead, they now have Cirilla’s main ally with her hands full, and all the elves in Tamriel on her tail.” Frigg finished. “And you know this. You know Eredin will always know that she’s in Nirn, and he won’t let the elves stop searching, and the assassination of an emperor is no small favor to pay back. You know she can’t go anywhere else, because he’ll have an army waiting. You know the Thalmor will keep going until they get her or until they are stopped, because you’ve seen that happen to the Blades.”

The mother stepped forwards and closed the distance between her and her daughter. “And you don’t want that. You don’t want her to be on the run again, so you’ll do what it takes. Because you hate them, you hate the Thalmor for what it has turned this family into, because this was the last straw. And so you will wear this Amulet of Kings in the Imperial City.”

Frigg slid the pendant into her speechless daughter’s neck. Anne didn’t struggle.

“You will take control of the Legion and the land will flow with the blood of elves, until the Empire is one again. Because you love her, Anne, and you’re a damn fool. You love her, and she loves you, but once you’re done with your crusade you will be someone else and she’ll love you no more. And then all you will have is the throne. So is the will of Akatosh.”

“Cruel gods, silent gods,” Sheogorath repeated.

Anne sat down, too stunned to reply. Her shaky fingers brushed against the Amulet of Kings on her neck.  Ciri felt used. Disgustingly used. And so very furious. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes went from her shocked friend to Sheogorath, who had chosen madness in order to achieve freedom, to Martin’s silent acceptance of his fate, to Frigg’s bitterness and coldness she could now understand, and she felt incredibly tired.

“So is the will of Akatosh,” the mother repeated, then unexpectedly embraced her daughter in a tight hug. “And I hope you’ll be the one to escape it.”

Cold droplets on Ciri’s skin.  Just like that, they were in the courtyard again. They wore what they had first worn when they went outside, their weapons returned, yet the Amulet of Kings still hung around Anne’s neck. She was dazed and speechless.

“An,” the witcheress called out, and the Dragonborn flinched. “An, please.”

She touched the woman’s shoulder, a gentle brush at first that evolved to a full blown embrace. She felt the Dragonborn shake with sobs as she held her, and had to bite back tears of her own.

_Gods damn it, Cirilla, you knew this was coming. You’re a magnet of disgrace and death._

“We’ll figure something out,” Anne finally spoke. “There will be a way…another way. I’m sure of it.”

“Yes, we will,” Ciri agreed feebly.

She did not believe that for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought of the day: having Ciri around is basically like having fast travel.


	6. Chapter 6

Anne woke up to a mess of ashen blond hair on her pillow, and her cheeks turned a little pink when her brain finally caught up with her eyes. She cranked her neck up, saw the witcheress’ steady rise and fall of the chest, and plopped her head back on the pillow. Something tugged at her throat and she reached for it –

The Amulet of Kings.

She suppressed a whimper and tried to find the turning point in which her life became complete madness. It was, as usual, a futile effort. She pulled the blanket over her head and hid under it.

_Very mature, O great heir to the throne._

This time she could not suppress a groan, and Ciri shifted a little to her side. She felt her cheeks burn again. It wasn’t the first time she slept with someone, or with a woman, or with that woman in particular, yet she still reacted like a prepubescent little girl every time, because she was –

_Really into her, damn, those green eyes and cocky little smile, Talos preserve me._

“What are you doing?” Ciri’s bewildered, sleep-groggy voice came from the world outside her blanket cave.

“Avoiding my adult responsibilities,” She answered, holding the covers tighter.

The witcheress scoffed.

“Quit being a child, before I whack you again,” Ciri teased.

“Don’t you dare!” Anne hissed.

Her ribs were poked. Again. Again. She kicked sideways but missed.

“You didn’t seem to mind last night,” The witcheress laughed.

Now her ears were burning, and the blanket was abruptly ripped off from above her. She shivered from the cold air on her bare skin and snarled a stream of curses.

“Dibella’s tits! …I hate you, little shit, I really – mmff –”

Their lips met, and Anne didn’t hate her at all.

 

* * *

 

_So here are your options, Dragonborn,_ Anne debated with herself. _You can go ahead and do exactly what is expected of you, and hope against all hope that you’ll outwit Akatosh, or you can just… not._

She wrote that down in her journal, to keep track of her thoughts, and bit off another chunk of honeycomb to chew.

‘ _Not’ seems like a good option. I’m not qualified for empress. Let’s run with that._

She circled ‘not’ on the paper, and cast another magelight with a flick of her wrist. It was late, way late in the night, she was tired and her head hurt. Yet she’d been sitting on her hands for almost a week, waiting for others to make their moves while passive-aggressively dodging Esbern and Delphine around the temple, and she had grown too restless from it.

_So if I don’t take the throne, then I can just… carry on as usual. Yes. That seems nice._

Except she couldn’t carry on as usual, because she couldn’t let her country fall into chaos, and because –

Her chest tightened a little, and she grit her teeth.

_Because you have it really bad for Ciri, that’s why. And she can’t be happy running away._

She was abruptly not just angry, but enraged. She felt her blood burn and closed her hands into fists. On a whim, the Dragonborn drew a dragon bone dagger from her boot and slammed it up to the hilt in the wooden table.

“I hate you, Akatosh,” She voiced, and the fury in her chest dissolved into something different, something colder. “I hate you,” She repeated. “I hate you and the Aedra. I hate that you play with our lives and use us as tools. You’re a coward, Akatosh, worse than those you call demons, because they have the guts to stare me in the face at least.”

No answer. No big surprise, yet she still felt disappointed. She pulled the knife free and ran her fingertip over the sharp edge.

“I hate you.”

_And what are you going to do about it?_

She was overcome by dread, and her eyes filled with tears. Her hands trembled with the despair of being trapped in a situation she could not escape. The walls around her suddenly felt too tight, Alduin’s wall with her fate etched on it too oppressive. Her breathing hitched and her heart pounded.

_Uncomfortably confined._

She rose from the chair and stumbled blindly outside. The cold air was a relief to her lungs, and she counted to ten and then back, trying to calm herself.

_Your lack of proper action and decision is infuriating._

She hated herself for that. Her fingers twitched, and she realized she was still holding the dagger. Without thinking, she pressed the tip over her own chest.

_What? What are you going to do, suicide?_

“Oh, woah,” Ciri’s voice broke through the night air, and Anne almost dropped the knife. “It’s like I woke up to look at myself in the past.”

The witcheress walked to her side, but made no move to stop her. The white haired woman leaned her back against the railing and looked up at the night sky. The Dragonborn still didn’t move.

“I was a coward, in the end, and I paid for my cowardice with pain and humiliation,” Ciri continued absently. “It’s your choice, Anne, really. If you value your freedom over your life…I won’t stop you. The good news though, is that once you’ve reached this low, it can only get better. And it does. It does get better.”

And then the Dragonborn laughed bitterly and put the blade away. Ciri tilted her head.

“Expected you not to do it. Didn’t expect you to find it funny.”

Anne mimicked her position and stared at the heavens.

“There’s no freedom in death. My soul is also his. I’d be throwing my life away for nothing. Would you really have let me?”

“Would you really have done it?”

She had no answer to that.

 

* * *

 

 The way out came to her two nights later, as she laid awake in her bed once again. Ciri was fast asleep by her side – or maybe she wasn’t, maybe she was just pretending. Anne could never tell. By then it was quite well established that the two were having an affair, so much that after a while Lydia audaciously moved Ciri’s belongings to the Dragonborn’s room without even asking.

There had been news of Thalmor movements around the temple, yet the elves had yet to lay siege to them. Anne suspected much of their reluctance was tied to the rumors that she had dragons to her service. Those were partly true – while she had the loyalty of some and could surely subdue the others, the dragon race was never really meant to come together as an army, and she had no hopes of controlling them as such.

_There is an alternative._

She closed her eyes and slowed down her breathing. She could turn the situation around.

_You’re insane._

Her escape had been staring at her in the face for a while, she just refused to look at it, because it was way too horrible, and because it was not a winning situation, but rather a mutual harm one. She would give up everything, yet Akatosh would lose so much more.

She rubbed the gem on the Amulet with her thumb. Giving that to her had been a mistake, because now she was one step too close to…

_Finishing what Alduin started._

Tearing Nirn apart. On her own terms.

“Go back to sleep,” Ciri mumbled. “It’s two thirty six in the morning, by the love of the gods.”

The witcheress’ voice felt like a knife to her heart, and Anne gritted her teeth. She couldn’t let the other know, of course not, but she could make sure that Ciri came off on top of it. The head of some elves was a reasonable enough request when the trading coin was the entire world.

Hermaeus Mora’s offer was still up. She was certain she could add that extra little term. And if not, there were eleven other Princes to negotiate with.

She sunk down in the mattress. “I want to get moving tomorrow. This place is getting to my nerves.”

In the darkness, she heard rather than saw the witcheress turn towards her.

“Anywhere in mind?”

“There’s a friend I want to visit.” She moved a bit closer, until their shoulders touched. Ciri shifted and wrapped her arms around her. She felt safe, and then she felt guilty. “She might be able to help.”

_You’ll throw away everything you ever fought for in a tantrum._

But wasn’t a tantrum between the gods how Nirn came to be?

_Go big or go home, am I right?_

“Mmmh, if you say so.” Arms were wrapped around her. A warm cheek nestled on her shoulder. “Very important you sleep then.”

The Dragonborn closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come. She was still awake twenty minutes later. The witcheress’ breath was warm against her skin. She lifted her fingers and gently stroked the scar on the woman’s cheek.

“Hey, Ciri,” She whispered.

_If I wake her again, she’ll bloody murder me._

She moved nose near Ciri’s cheek and closed her eyes. Sleep was really hard to come by. She felt like she could use some sleeping tree sap to knock her out for a good eight hours.

“I…”

She pressed her lips together, took a deep breath and tried again.

“I…I…think. I think I love you.” A pause. “I definitely love you.”

No answer. The witcheress was fast asleep. Or pretending.

_I can never tell anyway._

 

* * *

 

_“It is to me you have spoken an oath, yet it is to Mora you plan to hand the world.”_

The voice that sounded in her head was so familiar, Anne was barely startled. She turned to Ciri for a second, wary that she might have felt the telepathy going on, but the woman riding next to her seemed peacefully oblivious.

 _Lady Nocturnal,_ she greeted. _It is to you I have sworn an oath, yet it is Akatosh who pulls the strings in my life._

The jab did not go unpunished by the Prince, and Anne’s horse abruptly tripped. She cursed.

_Do you even want Nirn, my lady? Because I’m very open to negotiation. I really want –_

_“I know what you want,”_ the Daedra interrupted. “ _And you are correct in the assumption that I have no desire to take over this or any plane. Let Mora have it. Let Dagon have it. I care not. As your friend can testify, there are infinite others._ ”

 _Yet you do not contact me for naught,_ Anne retorted.

It was hard to keep track of the road and bargain with a demon in her head, so the Dragonborn was hit in the face by branches more than once.

“What’s with you today?” Ciri queried. “Your head is in the clouds.”

_“Because you do possess something of interest to me, and in exchange, I am willing to give you what you want.”_

_Do tell._

“Just tired,” The Dragonborn mumbled to her companion.

_“I will secure your friend’s freedom. I will make sure those who pursue her are eliminated. And, because you have served me well, I will lift from her shoulders the bad luck that has accompanied her for life.”_

_And in return?_

_“You will hand me your soul. You were a thief first, Dragonborn second, and I want what you promised. You will serve me in Evergloam for eternity. None can steal from the prince of thieves, not even the head of the Aedra.”_

She spurred her horse into a trot, leaving the other slightly behind.

_Yeah, slight problem. This whole dragon blood thing, it binds me to Aetherius. I don’t get to choose, not really._

Something zoomed past her. It was Ciri. Anne half smiled and kicked her horse harder. It broke into a sprint, and she chased after her companion. The thundering of hooves alleviated some of her anguish.

_“Hermaeus knows the way to set you free. Lie to him, Dragonborn. Promise him your essence. He will break the chains that hold you, and in that moment, I will steal you away. He will have the world, and that is more than enough.”_

She passed Ciri, and heard the witcheress’ laughter behind her as she pushed her horse faster and faster. She moved with certainty, but in her mind she hesitated.

_And if I do that…and give myself to you. What for? What will be of me?_

The two horses were head to head now, and Anne kept her eyes firmly on the horizon, steering the horse through the dirt road.

_“I will make of you whatever I desire. But your friend will be free, and she will have my blessing.”_

Her teeth chattered. She tensed her jaw shut hard enough that they hurt.

_…deal. So be it, Lady Nocturnal. So be it._

Their horse race ended just as abruptly as it had started, and the two hopped off their respective saddles to cook something for an improvised lunch. Nocturnal went silence with the Dragonborn’s acceptance and remained quiet thorough all their meal. It was only when Masser first came out in the sky and the two set up camp that Anne heard from the Prince again.

_“There are very few things as strange as the love between mortals.”_

The Dragonborn chose to remain silent about it.


	7. Chapter 7

 

“I have to give it to you,” Ciri yelled over the howling wind. “You are a master at not being found. I don’t think the weather could get any more dissuasive.”

                “Say what?!”

“Just keep rowing!” The witcheress commanded, giving up on any form of communication.

They moved their arms in synch, making the precarious rowboat glide over the half-frozen surface of the ocean.  That the salty water had frozen over was a testament to how cold the place was, and northerners or not, not even the intense exercise could keep the two women from quivering. When their wooden bathtub finally hit the shore, the blonde took a moment to enjoy the feeling of utter bliss that came from relaxing her burning muscles.

She didn’t take the time to admire the creepy gargoyles that rested on each of the bridge’s pillars, because she feared if she stood still for too long, she’d turn into a snow hill. Even so, the eeriness of the dark, looming castle was unmissable, and so she was not at all surprised when the door was opened by a supernatural creature. Her emerald eyes met bright crimson ones and there was a spark of tension.

_I instantly dislike – oh, she doesn’t have a single normal friend in this world, does she?_

For an uncomfortable moment, the Dragonborn and the _creature_ stared at one another speechlessly. Then Anne awkwardly half-hugged herself, rubbing her left arm with her right palm. She cleared her throat.

“Serana,” the dark-haired woman greeted. “It’s… it’s good to see you.”

Serana grimaced and it did not escape Ciri how she purposefully bared a pair of fangs.

“Then maybe you should have visited sooner,” the vampire all but hissed. “But then, I suppose I only have the honor of your presence now because it so happens to fit your agenda, am I right?”

                A pause. The very air around them seemed to grow heavy. The silence was an answer in itself.

“…Figures.” Serana jeered, then gave their back to them and made her way down a stone staircase. By then it was clear that there was unresolved business between the two, and so Ciri took a step back and waited for them to sort it out.

Anne chased after the woman, recklessly skipping the slippery steps. “Serana, I… ”

                The other halted and turned to face the Dragonborn, eyebrows arched with contempt. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

                Anne gesticulated vaguely with open hands. “I’m… I’m sorry. I know we didn’t part on good terms, and I shouldn’t have vanished like I did, and you’re right, it wasn’t fair for me to ask that of you, and… yes, I’m on a pinch again and…” She stopped. Bit her lip. Dropped her gaze.

                “It wasn’t, and you shouldn’t,” the vampire agreed.

                “If there’s any way I can make it up to you…” she trailed off tentatively.

                “Oh yes, don’t worry, I won’t hesitate to ask… if any possibility of redemption ever comes up.”

                Ciri decided right then that this was growing to be a bit too much, so she picked that moment to sit on the railing and slide down. She hopped to the floor, took a step forwards, crossed her arms, and stared Serana down in the eyes.

                “Hey. She apologized. Quit being an ass.”

                The vampire bared her fangs. Ciri tilted her chin up in challenge. Then, unexpectedly, Serana took a step back, double facepalmed and let out a long, drawn out sigh.

                “And you have the nerve of coming up here with a woman, too,” she lamented. “Daedra and Divines, Annie, you got in trouble helping people out again, didn’t you? You’re a hopeless case.”

                _Annie?_

“I… guess?”

Serana lunged, not toward her but in Anne’s direction, fast enough that before Ciri got a chance to react, the vampire’s hands were already clasped firmly on the Dragonborn’s shoulders. The witcheress reached for her sword, but by then Serana had already let go of the wide-eyed woman and closed her hands into fists.

_I underestimated her speed._

“Oblivion take you, Anne, do you realize all I want to do right now is be angry at you and I can’t even do that?”

“Uhm…”

The vampire was pacing now, positively fuming. “I have a right to be furious at how quick you are to replace me –”

“That’s not – I didn’t – this isn’t fair!” the Dragonborn protested. “I’m just helping her out! I did the same for you!”

Serana lashed out again, slamming her fist in the stone wall with such brute strength her hand was buried up to the wrist. Anne flinched. Ciri attentively tracked the woman’s movements with her eyes.

“That is my point, numbskull! You are a naïve moron!” She raged on. “And it is so incredibly frustrating that instead of anger all I can feel is concern when I see you being led around yet again by…fucking bastards like me! I had half a mind to put out the sun myself and you just…let yourself be stringed on, that’s how much of an idiot you are!”

“You seem pretty angry,” The Dragonborn pointed out.

“If I was angry, I would have horns!” She snarled, pointing with her index fingers to where said horns would sprout from. “And wings!” She continued, this time aiming her thumbs at her shoulder blades. “I am frustrated and annoyed and definitely hurt, but not mad!”

“Well, when you put it that way…I’m just, I’m really sorry, Serana, I mean it, I –”

Serana closed her eyes and waved it off. “Just get out of my sight. You know where to stay. I’ll have a room prepared for your… _friend_ over there.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ciri stepped in. “I believe a single bed shall suffice.”

This time, when the vampire lunged, the witcheress was ready.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you traded punches with my friend,” Anne muttered between mouthfuls of honeycomb. “I cannot believe –”

_I cannot believe she has a room just for you, stocked up with honeycomb and fine wine. Friend, my ass._

“Just pass me the brandy already,” Ciri mumbled, sinking down on the mattress of the intricately carved bed, holding a pack of ice to her skull. The Dragonborn handed her the bottle and she sat up, ever so slowly, her body aching with every movement. She took down one long swig, wishing she had access to actual analgesics.

_I would kill for a shot of codeine…metamizole…acetaminophen… fuck’s sake, I should start going to places where medicine actually matters more often._

She took another deep gulp and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Then she frowned when she noticed Anne straddling the chair, staring fixedly at her with a look of mischief.

“What?” Ciri inquired.

“Are you jealous?”

Ciri frowned, stared at those innocent blue eyes, did a double-take, blinked. The very idea of it was so ludicrous, she had to resist the urge to scoff.

“What?! No!” A pause. “…did the two of you actually have…an affair?”

Anne laughed. “So yes, you are jealous.”

_I love the sound of your laught –_

“Don’t be ridiculous,” The witcheress countered. “Jealousy implies insecurity. You’d have to be a fool to trade _me_ for anyone, and if you are, then you wouldn’t be worthy of me anyway. I ask merely out of…professional curiosity. ”

The Dragonborn stuck her tongue out. “Yes, of course, my apologies, O Great and Beautiful – ”

Ciri reached inside for reserves of energy and willpower she wasn’t sure she had and threw a pillow at her friend, ignoring the sharp muscular pain.  Anne dodged it effortlessly, giggling as she did.

“All right, all right. We did have… a thing. It’s complicated.”

“What did you two fight over?” Ciri pressed on, crossing her legs over the bed and hugging the remaining pillow.

Anne sighed. She stood from the chair, dusted herself and sat down on the bed next to Ciri.

“She’s… a vampire, as you probably noticed. I… couldn’t really accept that, I guess. I do understand she sacrificed a lot for it and it is her choice to make, but it just… makes things really strained and tense between us. Also, her mother hates me.”

The witcheress tilted her head. “You seem fine with your other friends though. The redhead and the twins. They’re not quite human either.”

“They’re werewolves, and it’s different,” Anne clarified. “Werewolves are bound to Hircine, vampires are bound to Molag Bal. Hircine is a much more acceptable prince.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the gods,” Ciri prompted. “I know one of them is your father, which makes you a demigod. Then there is that crazy one we summoned and met. I also know Talos is the one no one is supposed to worship but everyone does. And, that’s about it.”

“I’m not sure I qualify as a demigod, Akatosh is many hundreds of generations behind me –”

“Oh, trust me, I know the kind. You have fancy powers, divine heritage and you get bossed around a lot, so yes. Demigod. You qualify.”

The Dragonborn rolled her eyes. “Is there any sort of mystical being anywhere you haven’t heard of?”

“Mmm, I doubt that, I’ve seen some shit. Of course I can’t be sure because _I haven’t heard of it._ ” Ciri teased.

“Divines, but aren’t you being quite the smartass today!” Anne growled as she yanked the pillow from the witcheress’ hands and repeatedly hit her with it. Cursing, the blonde fell down on the mattress, shortly followed by her friend.

“Ow, ow, ow, dammit!” She complained, though her face had a silly grin stuck to it. “All right, all right! So, which of the gods is your god?”

“Well, it is Akatosh I descend from –”

“That’s not what I asked,” Ciri interrupted. “I meant, which of the gods is the one you work for by your own free will? Which of them you actually like? In my experience, that tends to be anyone in the pantheon _but_ the one the demigod is descended from.”

“Spot on again.” Anne crossed her arms below her head and stared at the roof absently. “It’s Nocturnal. Prince of thieves, spies and all things shady. She’s… surprisingly quite nice. Very motherly. Her sister Azura is not so bad either.”

“Mhhm.” The witcheress rolled sideways to face her friend, flinching at a sharp jab in her ribcage. “And the one with werewolves?”

“Hircine,” the other explained. “Prince of the Hunt and menbeasts in general, not just werewolves. Like werebears. Have you met werebears?” She challenged, rolling to the side.

“Pfff,” Ciri snorted. “Werebears or Berserkers as we call it are natives to the Skellige islands. Pick a harder creature, I don’t even have to go away from my home world to see this one. Why do you call some of them ‘Princes’?”

“They’re different kind of gods. The Aedra are the divines; the Daedra are… I suppose you can call them demons. The Daedric Princes are the really, really powerful demons.”

The blonde crossed her legs at the heels. “I see. I take it the Princes are easier to deal with?”

Anne shrugged. “I guess? You just don’t get to deal with the Aedra at all. They never show up. I’ve met all of the Princes, but a grand total of one Aedra, and it was the one I was supposed to kill. Oh, there’s that: the Aedra are mortal, the Daedra are not. So I suppose that’s why we don’t see much of them.”

“Mortal gods,” Ciri mused. “Those never cease to amaze me. Before you ask, yes, met them before. The one with the vampires, he a Prince?”

“Molag Bal, Prince of Rape. You see how I might object to that one. Not all Daedra are vile, some are actually much kinder than the Aedra, but Molag is just not among them.”

She paused at that, but the witcheress got a feeling she wanted to say more, so she stood quiet and sure enough, the Dragonborn resumed talking after a moment.

“I don’t know, I just…” She trailed off. “Serana… she cares for me, I’m sure of that, and I care for her too, but… it’s just too different. She’s lived for thousands of years, Ciri. She was here before the pact between Aka and Alessia was sealed, and that’s… that was… _dynasties_ ago _._ The way she acts, the way she feels… it is at times passionate and fierce, but it can also be so… distant and calculated. And even though I can deal with the whole blood drinking thing, sanctuaries to Molag Bal are a bit hard to swallow. It’s hypocritical, all things considered, but I find thieving much morally superior to _rape._ ”

“Being subtracted of your valuables, as opposed to being subtracted of your dignity and humanity,” Ciri pondered. “I’m hardly suited to talk about this, all things considered. I do make a living out of hunting her kind. But in the end, she does care for you. My whole body can attest to that. ”

Anne chuckled, trailing her thumb gently over the blonde’s bruised arms. “She kicked your ass.”

“Now, now, to be fair, I did give her something to remember me by,” Ciri protested. “I was just holding back as an act of kindness and courtesy towards someone who is your friend. Why are we even here, anyway? What in all of the worlds made you think that bringing me to your ex’s place was a good idea?”

The Dragonborn’s face fell, and she inhaled sharply. “She has… something of mine. Something I asked her to keep a while ago, and that may be of help now. And let’s leave it at that.”

“Shady, shady,” the witcheress complained, eyebrows arched.

Anne stared back at her, looking plain desolate, and Ciri leaned in and gave her a gentle peck on the lips, receiving a satisfying sly smile in return.

“Here, turn over, get this shirt off and let me see to these bruises of yours, you troublemaker.”

She did as she was told, wincing from the movement. Then she laid belly down on the mattress, arms crossed under her chin, staring lazily ahead.

“Shouldn’t you also see if your friend needs any healing?” She half provoked, half tested the waters.

“Talos’ holy knickers, if _that’s_ not being jealous… No, Cirilla, I shan’t see if she needs any healing, don’t be a fool. ‘Heal undead’ is a spell far too advanced for me, her mother can see to her, and she’ll be perfectly fine after a meal or two. Now shut up and let me do this.”

Shut up she did, closing her eyes and feeling pleasantly lulled by the harmony of light touches and warm bursts of magic that caressed her skin.

_Perhaps I could do without the analgesics for a while longer…_

She licked her lips and her tongue detected vague traces of honey.

_Yes, I don’t mind this. Not at all._


	8. Chapter 8

She rose with the sun, even though she hadn’t really slept much at all. That had become a common occurrence in her life. She stumbled as quietly as she could, still groggy from sleep, only stopping to tuck in the blissfully asleep – or convincingly faking – blonde woman. She bit back a sneeze when her bare feet touched the damp, cool stone floors, and made her way in the dark down the familiar halls of Castle Volkihar.

She stopped briefly at the door that led to the chapel, hesitated when she heard noise from inside, then moved on. The castle was much cozier since Serana had taken it over. The vampire had taken to heart her friend’s claims that the whole blood, bones and gore decorations was _way_ out of fashion. Now the place had a rusty feel; Serana had gone for a ‘baroque-esque’ look, as she claimed it. The floors and furnishing had been traded, the gargoyles had switched to dramatic positions, the glasses on the windows that were broken from the battle with the Dawnguard had been replaced to form colorful mosaics.

Rather than a vampire den, the place now looked like the home of an eccentric. Anne very much approved of the change. She opened the heavy wooden doors that led out to the courtyard, wincing at the noise they made.

_For a thief, you’re making quite the ruckus._

She drew in a sharp breath when she rested eyes on the garden. It had always been a striking sight, even when torn down, and ever since Serana and Valerica had teamed up to restore it, the place had been nothing short of mystical. Where rubble had been, now rested hundred, even thousands of flowers – nightshades and deathbells, woven in the ground like tapestry. Their slow movement in response to the wind was, at the same time, both eerie and hypnotizing.

She closed her eyes as she walked to the bench, feeling the gentle breeze of the magically controlled weather. She twitched her toes when the balls of her feet touched the cool metallic edges of the moondial crests, and kept walking until her ankles touched the edge of the bench.

She sat down, eyes still closed, and let her mind drift off, her sharp ears picking up the wuthering winds above and around the castle. She didn’t even flinch when the air around her was disrupted by the sound of a hundred beating wings. She waited a whole five minutes in silence before opening her eyes.

“Oh, I was wondering if you’d need any healing,” The Dragonborn gestured absently towards her body. “But I see you’ve handled yourself well.”

Serana turned to face her in a single slow movement, resting her crimson eyes on Anne’s sky-blue ones. She felt a chill, and pulled the cloak closer to her body, rubbing her bare feet together to make heat.

“Oh, have you actually learned to heal the undead?” the vampire asked.

“To a certain extent. I’m not good with it, but I’m not a total disaster either.”

The two fell into silence again, and the Dragonborn could almost feel the weight of the quietude. She followed her friend’s blank gaze to the gardens, reaching automatically inside her pockets for a comb of honey to chew. That her hands came back empty was something that soured her mood a little, but mostly what made her frown was Serana’s usual aloofness.

And then, unexpectedly:

“It’s been…hard for me, to see you with someone else.”

Another long pause. Anne brought her feet up the bench and hugged her legs, then drew in a deep sigh. The tightness in her chest did not alleviate.

“Do you resent me?” The Dragonborn whispered, knowing the other would hear.

The vampire scoffed. “Hardly. I knew what I was signing up for. We all do. It’d be silly to blame you for…being the way you are. Silly to fall for someone then expect them to change.”

Anne rested her chin on her knees. “They don’t have to be rational, that’s why they’re feelings.”

“Ah…” Serana trailed off absently, back to her usual detachment. “They don’t have to be rational, but I do.”

The Dragonborn pressed her lips together and bit back abrupt tears. She breathed in and out slowly, trying to reign in her emotions.

_I’m just so very tired._

“…you’re still my best friend, though, you know.”

The vampire’s lips curled in a sly smile that did not quite reach her eyes and she hit a light punch on Anne’s shoulder.

“We make a good team.”

She only noticed that tears had been falling when she started sniffling, sniffles that quickly became silent sobs, or as silent as she could make them. The heartache she felt was real and all but unbearable.

“…miss you, you know. Miss your snide remarks, your sincere awe at the simplest things, miss our partnership, our late-night drinking, our adventures and silly games… sloshing over sewers and chasing butterflies… giving you flowers and visiting lost valleys together…hurts a lot to be without you, Serana.”

She saw the other bite her bottom lip, fangs outstretched. She knew vampires could not cry.

“I…” the other began. Her voice broke. “Miss you too, Annie.”

The Dragonborn gritted her teeth and turned her head up, eyes closed, face contorted in an expression of pain. The tears that rolled over her cheeks left a trail of dampness that burnt in the cold. She let out a strangle sound in one long gasp for air.

_Divines, but it feels like my heart is actually being torn –_

That none could bring up the courage to comfort the other made it even more crushing, and she closed her hands into fists, digging her nails deep into her palms. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up.

“You love that girl though, don’t you? I can see it by the way you look at her. You were always so very easy to read…”

Anne hid her face in her hands. “Fuck it, Serana, you know I’m sincere with my feelings. I love her, I really do.”

“…I see.”

She folded her hands together and placed them over her heart. “Wish we could go back to that time… things were simpler.”

Serana scoffed. “Things were never simple with you and you know it. I heard about the emperor… I take it you’re in trouble?”

Anne wiped her face with her sleeve, jumping at the chance to move away from the painful subject. “You have no idea what has been happening to me these days. Long story short, I’ve got the Amulet of Kings, and I’m supposed to relight the Dragonfires.”

The vampire looked off into space, her face blank. “And what are you intending to do?”

“I’m just so tired... I don’t want to do this any longer, Serana. Don’t want to be played. I just…would like to put an end to it.” The Dragonborn stated in a tone of defeat. “I’ll…open the gates of Oblivion and rip the world apart.”

“Mmm. Delightful.”

Serana rested her elbows on the bench’s backrest.

“That’s it?” Anne complained. “No protests? No problem in my trying to break the world we fought so hard to save?”

“Nirn has always been upon your shoulders, and once you make up your mind about something, it can hardly be changed or stopped,” the other replied nonchalantly. “Besides, I didn’t fight to save the world, Annie. That has always been you. I fought to spite my father…how can I argue against you doing the same?”

She took a deep breath, counted to three, organized her jumbled thoughts, and gathered the guts to say what was on her mind.

“I… if I do it… I mean, if the world ceases to be, you’ll…Molag Bal…you’ll be on his hands, you know? If you live, it’s to Coldharbour you’ll escape to. And if you die, well, your soul is his. And I…I worry. I don’t mean to bring this argument up again, and I know it’s your decision, I just…wanted to offer you a chance to change it, given the new circumstances.”

“Thank you for your concern,” the other replied in a perfect monotone. “It’s fine, Annie. I’ll live. I’ll...endure.”

The Dragonborn bit her bottom lip tensely. “I had thought… that you’d try and talk me out of it, somehow. It just seems so easy, way too easy… how come Akatosh hasn’t done anything to stop me? He seemed very intent on stopping others.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t believe you’ll actually do it.”

A pause. She put her feet back down, rested her elbows on her knees, leaned forward and turned to face the vampire. They locked eyes. “Do you?”

Serana broke eye contact. “I’m always ready to follow your lead wherever it takes us... even if it’s towards certain doom. You know that.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you believe I’ll do it?”

The vampire exhaled loudly.

“I can’t answer that, because you don’t know it yourself.”

 

* * *

 

 

To say the Black Book had been safely kept in Castle Volkihar would be an understatement. It had been locked down inside a chest on the depths of what used to be the human cattle’s dungeons, guarded by protective spells, traps, thick stone walls and a couple Atronachs. Reaching it without Serana’s clearance would have been all but impossible, yet the vampire did not accompany her to the final chamber.

When she finally pushed the heavy wooden lid out of her way, she found herself alone with the daedric artifact and all the bad memories it brought. The black cover seemed alive under her fingers, slithering, and she suppressed a shudder when she picked it up, her skin crawling. Even in the dimly lit room, the book held her in a trance, its secrets begging to be unraveled. She ran her digits over the fleshlike surface, mesmerized at the faded yet alive engraving of Hermaeus Mora, its tentacles twisting.

There was so much power held within those pages, so much she could gain from those tomes. Even the essentially Aedric knowledge of dragon shouts could be found there. Secrets of might and sorcery, strength and the arcane that had enabled her to take down Miraak. This book, she knew, would take her in a waking dream to Apocrypha, the one place where she could truly, completely unlock the potential passed down to her within each and every dragon soul. She could be faster, stronger, stealthier, her Voice could be fiercer –

_What the fuck_

She threw the book across the room with a quiet shriek, realizing in horror that small little tendrils had been wrapping themselves around her fingers. She fell to her knees, gasping for air, leaning her back against a cold damp pillar, and stood like that for one long moment. She watched with wide eyes as the tentacles retracted back to inside the pages, her body covered in cold sweat.

_I don’t want this. Not like this, not like this I don’t want –_

Her body gave in to one strong spasm, and she turned to the side and threw up. Then, still shaking, she stood, using the stone column for support, and walked towards the artifact. She pulled out a leather rucksack from her bag and mercilessly kicked the book inside it, tying the bag shut tightly.

_I had forgotten how fucking repulsive this made me feel._

 

* * *

 

It was in the Imperial City it had begun, and it was in the Imperial City it would end. Getting there however was another matter entirely. They walked at night to avoid pursuers, Serana both watching their backs and scouting ahead with her superior senses. The Dragonborn hadn’t seen the vampire for over an hour, but the night was still young and they always found her camp right before dawn.

She still wasn’t sure how exactly this would end, and she suspected she wouldn’t know it right up to the very last moment, when she faced Martin Septim’s remains with the Amulet of Kings in hands. Until then, she postponed this final decision, bringing also the ever so maleficent Black Book. Serana and her alternated carrying it so as to share the burden of the artifact’s influence. Anne was grateful for that. She didn’t want the tome to cloud her judgment.

“Can we stop for a moment?” Ciri queried, and the Dragonborn slowed down to a halt. “I would like to talk.”

_Oh here comes_

“We shouldn’t take long,” she warned. “But go ahead.”

“Mmh.” The witcheress cleared her throat. In the dim light of Masser and Secunda, she could barely see the outlines of her face, yet her ashen hair caught the moonlight beautifully. “I don’t know how else to say this. Do you think I’m an idiot? How long do you and…that _other_ one, how long do you plan on keeping me in the dark about this? And I don’t even mean it literally.”

The Dragonborn reached out with the exposed three fingers of her half-gloved hand and brushed her skin against the blonde’s cheeks. It was warm to the touch, and the other exhaled in defeat.

“I mean, An … I’m a witcher, you know. I was trained to seek and destroy evils of magical origins. You can’t just carry around a bag of pure magical evil without telling me what it is or what we’ll use it for. I’ll start thinking you’re going to do something vile.”

She ran her thumb lightly over the other’s dry, cracked lips, then pulled her hand back and hugged herself.

“…I might be planning to do something vile. Can you stand for that?”

She felt the blonde’s warm touch on her neckline and leaned into the witcheress’ hand slightly. Ciri used her thumb to rub circles on the Dragonborn’s cheekbones.

“What do you want to do?”

She gave the caressing fingers a playful nibble.

 “I…haven’t decided yet. I don’t know, I…” She searched for the other’s eyes with her own, looking for some kind of reassurance or sympathy, but in the darkness, she found nothing, and that was perhaps crucial to what she said next. “It’s a Black Book, Ciri. An artifact linked to Hermaeus Mora and its Apocrypha. With it, I might… I might be able to gather the knowledge to free my soul. Maybe strike back at Akatosh…I just don’t know anything yet, I… I have to get to the Imperial City first, and then I’ll see about it.”

“I can stand for that.”

She heard the other close in and felt their lips press together. With a pang of guilt to her heart, she closed her eyes, though in the darkness it barely matter. They kissed under the moonlight, slowly but intensely until they ran out of breath. Then they resumed their trek through the snowy landscape, jogging to catch up their delay.

 _“Why did you lie?”_   a familiar Daedric Prince called in her head. _“Why didn’t you tell her of your plans of trading the world for the head of her enemies, of trading your life for your freedom?”_

Anne involuntarily sighed. _“To protect her, of course. She would never agree to that kind of idea.”_

 _“Wouldn’t she have wanted to know, though?”_ Nocturnal queried, sounding legitimately amused.

 _“What one wants and what one needs are not always the same. When it comes down to these kinds of sacrifices,”_ she mentally explained as she ran, _“It’s better if the receiver doesn’t know of it beforehand. I just have to believe I know better.”_

 _"There are few things as strange as the love between mortals,”_ The daedra concluded once again.

Anne still lacked an answer.


End file.
